She wanted to apologise to Eadulf for her temper but, at the same time, she felt that she was right; that she should be allowed her individuality and the freedom to pursue her own path in life. She had no wish to dominate but she wanted a supportive partnership. Would Eadulf see an apology as surrender? She was growing more confused than ever.
There was movement outside that caused her to look up from her meditation.
Fidelma knew who it was as soon as she heard the footfall outside the door. A smile of excitement came to her lips, which she immediately sought to control. Before she could do so there was a knock and she had called out, ‘Come in, Eadulf.’
Eadulf stood uncertainly on the threshold.
In spite of her misgivings, Fidelma rose and moved towards him, both hands outstretched.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said simply.
‘And I you,’ he replied slightly stiffly, although he responded to her embrace. She drew back, her eyes searching his.
‘You should know at once that I have asked Abbot Ségdae for his blessing on my withdrawal from the religious.’
He was silent for a moment, his face expressionless.
‘I did not doubt that you would follow that course once you had set your mind to it. I assume that you are sure that this is what you want?’
She turned back to the chair she had risen from, near the fire.
‘Close the door, Eadulf. Come and sit down.’ She waited until he was seated before continuing. ‘I am sure,’ she said simply. ‘This is what I must do.’
‘The status of a religious is not to be abandoned lightly,’ Eadulf observed with some sadness.
‘You know that I have never had any inclination to be a proselytiser of the Faith, to preach or teach, nor to spend my days in isolated contemplation or worship. I am a lawyer, Eadulf. That is my role in life.’
‘But being of the religious gives one security and status,’ he protested in a half-hearted fashion, aware that they had had this conversation many times.
For a moment her eyes flashed. ‘I am a princess of the Eóghanacht. I am a
dálaigh
of the law courts of the Five Kingdoms. You know that I am no longer in need of such status.’
Eadulf nodded slowly. ‘And soon you will be claiming the office of Chief Brehon of your brother’s kingdom.’
‘Who told you that?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.
Eadulf smiled briefly, without real expression. ‘If you have taught me nothing else, you have taught me how to make a logical deduction. Once I heard that Brehon Baithen was ill and that the Council of Brehons will soon meet to discuss his successor, well …’ He ended with a slight motion of his left shoulder as if to dismiss it. ‘Has Abbot Ségdae given you his blessing?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Not immediately. He suspects my leaving might have something to do with us.’
Eadulf’s brow wrinkled. ‘With us? I do not follow.’
‘Because we have separated he thinks …’ It was her turn to shrug.
‘He looks for cause and effect,’ Eadulf reflected. ‘That is logical.’
‘But not accurate,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Anyway, whether I have his approval or not, and whether I secure the office of my brother’s chief legal adviser or not, I am determined to follow my career in law.’
‘I suppose it was silly of me to think that I could change you,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘During these last weeks, I have come
to realise that the cause of most of the problems in this world is the desire to change other people, to make them think as we think, or behave as we do.
Quid existis in desertum videre … hominem mollibus vestitum?
’
It took her a moment before she realised that he was paraphrasing the Gospel of Matthew: ‘What went you out into the wilderness to see? A man clothed in soft raiment?’ In other words, one shouldn’t judge others by one’s own standards.
‘I will not attempt to put any further constraints on you, Fidelma,’ he went on. ‘You must do what you think best. And I … I must give thought to what I must do to fulfil my path in life.’
She stared at him in surprise. And suddenly she felt sorry for him. He looked very tired and resigned.
Then she mentally shook herself. She did not want to go down the path of discussing what thoughts he might have – at least, not yet.
‘Have you seen my brother yet?’
‘I have seen him and Abbot Ségdae.’
‘And you were interested enough in their proposal to come back to Cashel?’
‘Your brother is King and his proposal was more of a summons than a request. I think I have been able to reassure Ségdae that his suspicion was wrong. That your decision to leave the religious was made a long time ago.’
‘So what do you think of their plan that we undertake the investigation at Lios Mór?’
‘At first I was inclined to think that your brother was hatching some plot to bring us together but apparently the news of the murder of Brother Donnchad of Lios Mór is true.’
‘There still might be a motive in my brother’s thinking.’ Fidelma grimaced. ‘Nevertheless, you are right. It is true that Brother Donnchad has been murdered and the abbot has
requested help in resolving the matter.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you prepared to work with me on this mystery?’
‘I came here in answer to your brother’s summons,’ said Eadulf. ‘But whether I work with you or not is entirely your decision. I have told him that I will not impose myself where I am not wanted.’
She glanced at his determined features and suddenly smiled softly. ‘In these matters, we have always worked well together, Eadulf. I am not averse to your aid; in fact, I would more than welcome it.’
There was a moment of embarrassed silence.
‘Then I shall accompany you,’ Eadulf said after a while. ‘If we are to set out for Lios Mór tomorrow at first light, I must find somewhere to sleep.’
‘Muirgen will fix you up a bed in little Alchú’s chamber,’ Fidelma replied. ‘He has been asking for his father this last week and will be pleased to see you. Did you come here by foot or by horse?’
‘By horse, as it was the King’s summons.’
‘A good horse? It is a long ride tomorrow and, as you will recall, there are some steep mountain roads to climb before we reach Lios Mór.’
‘You know me and horses, Fidelma,’ Eadulf returned. ‘I had a loan of this animal from a local farmer to whom I have promised to return it.’
Eadulf knew that Fidelma was an expert horsewoman. She had ridden almost before she had begun to walk, and so he was happy to leave the matter in her capable hands. Eadulf was never comfortable riding, although he had greatly improved in recent years but he still knew little about horses.
‘Then you go to see Alchú and tell Muirgen to make you up a bed. I will go to the stables to look at your animal. We have several horses that can replace it if it is not suitable.’
They rose together and Fidelma went to the door and opened it. She paused and suddenly turned with a quick smile.
‘I am glad that you are coming with me,’ she said softly.
For the first time in weeks Eadulf felt happy. He realised that he felt comfortable, at ease, being back in the familiar apartments they had shared for so long. He had a momentary feeling of having come home. That was stupid, he reminded himself. Cashel was not his home. Yet there was no denying how he felt. He regretted the argument that he had had with Fidelma, which had developed out of proportion to what he had wanted to say to her. Yet once heated words were exchanged, matters seemed to be out of his control. In the years he had been with Fidelma he had come to realise that she would never do what she did not want to do, what she thought was wrong. He regretted his attempt to make her do so. He had felt contrition for his action almost from the moment he left Cashel.
What had it all been about?
Pride, he supposed. He had never fully accepted that he was not considered equal in law with Fidelma in her own land. He had once been an hereditary
gerefa
, son of a magistrate of his own people, the Angles, and Fidelma would not have been considered his equal in the land of the South Folk, had they settled there. He had known this long before he entered into a relationship with her and had been happy to make the decision that they would settle in her brother’s kingdom. But that pride, that resentment, had become a small quibbling voice at the back of his mind. He had begun to think that if they retreated into some religious community where all were regarded as equal, this would resolve matters.
Of course it would not. He should have known that better than anyone. Fidelma was not a person to be constrained in any community with rules and regulations. How many times had
he seen her chaff against such confines when she encountered them? And he had been trying to confine her. That was stupid. He just hoped it was not too late to make amends.
He turned towards the door that led to little Alchú’s room with a lighter heart than he had felt for a long time. He was looking forward to seeing his son again –
their
son.
T
he white light that heralded dawn had only just begun to spread over the jagged tops of the eastern hills when Fidelma and Eadulf came into the courtyard at Cashel. The stable lads were patiently waiting with their horses, already saddled for the journey. They were surprised, however, to find the young warrior, Gormán, also there, with his horse saddled and obviously prepared for a long journey. Gormán was a warrior of the Nasc Niadh, the warriors of the golden collar, élite bodyguards to the kings of Muman. He was also the son of Fidelma’s friend, Della, a former
be taide,
or prostitute, who lived in the township beneath the Rock of Cashel on which the palace of the Eóghanacht rulers was situated. Fidelma had successfully defended both Della and Gormán from accusations of murder. Gormán had become one of Cashel’s most trusted warriors and had shared several adventures with Fidelma and Eadulf.
‘Where are you off to?’ Eadulf asked after they had greeted one another.
‘Off to Lios Mór with you,’ grinned Gormán before turning to Fidelma. ‘The King, your brother, lady, has instructed me to accompany you and put myself at your service,’ he explained.
For a moment, a frown crossed her face. Then she dismissed
the objection that had sprung to her mind, realising that Gormán was never intrusive and often helpful in their quests.
‘Very well, we have a long ride ahead and I would like to be in the abbey of Lios Mór before nightfall.’
‘Shall we go directly by way of the Rian Bó Phádraig, the old highway that takes us across the mountains?’ queried the warrior.
‘We shall,’ affirmed Fidelma.
Eadulf noted that his horse had been exchanged for a roan-coloured cob with a luxuriant mane and tail. It was a powerful and muscular animal, well-proportioned and with a proud head. But at least the breed was known for its docile and willing nature, Eadulf thought thankfully. As they mounted, Colgú suddenly appeared with Caol, the commander of his bodyguard, at his side to wish them good fortune.
‘Remember that this is an important matter.’ Colgú’s tone was soft but serious as he addressed his sister. ‘Brother Donnchad was recently back from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and his brethren stood in awe of him, regarding him almost as a saint. That he should be killed in this mysterious manner is likely to cause alarm and dissension throughout the entire kingdom, if not beyond.’
‘You know me well enough, brother. I treat all matters involving unnatural death as important,’ Fidelma replied quietly, looking down at him.
‘I do not doubt it,’ returned Colgú, ‘but truly, Brother Donnchad was no ordinary scholar. He has walked on the ground where the Christ has stepped and preached. That makes him venerated throughout the kingdom.’
‘I understand, brother,’ Fidelma assured him. With a quick lifting of her hand, she set off through the gates of the palace. Eadulf and Gormán urged their horses after her.
They trotted down the slope that led into the township nestling
in the shadow of the grey walls that rose on the great limestone outcrop. For a while, until they were well beyond the township, they did not travel at more than a walking pace, nor did they engage in any conversation. Then on the open road beyond, Fidelma urged her grey into a quick trot. She was riding her favourite horse, a gift from her brother bought from a Gaulish horse trader. She called it Aonbharr, ‘the supreme one’, after the magical horse of Manannán mac Lir, the ocean god, which could run across sea or land and could not be killed by man or god. It was an ancient breed, short neck, upright shoulders and body, slight hindquarters with a long mane and tail. The Gauls and even the Romans had bred the type for battle. It had a calm temperament, displayed intelligence and, more importantly, had agility and stamina. It could easily outrun the cobs rode by Eadulf and Gormán.
Fidelma and Eadulf had not talked further of their quarrel or the matter that had led to it since the previous day and both felt, in their own ways, grateful for Gormán’s presence, which restricted a return to any such conversation. Eadulf was happy to examine the countryside as they took the main highway running south towards the distant mountain ranges, which stood as a barrier between the plain of Cashel and the abbey of Lios Mór. They passed several disused fortresses that had once guarded the ancient highway; each of them had names, such as the
rath
of blackthorns or Aongus’
rath
. The most impressive of these forts, in Eadulf’s opinion, rose on a great mound called the Hill of Rafon. Fidelma had pointed it out on several previous occasions when they had passed it. She did so with an air of pride because, she had told him, it was the former seat of the Eóghanacht kings of Muman, a place where they had been inaugurated and took the oath of kingship in ancient times, before they transferred their capital to Cashel.
By trotting and cantering over the flat plain they made good
time in reaching the banks of the broad River Siúr where a settlement had risen around the ancient fortress appropriately named Cathair, the stone fort. Just south of here, Eadulf recalled, were caves in the limestone cliffs overlooking the river, in which he and Fidelma had sheltered on a journey back from the far west. It was there that he had been worried about Fidelma’s depressive moods following the birth of Alchú. And here the old road turned slightly to the south-east, following the banks of the Siúr towards the distant hills. They kept the river to their right before moving away to follow the old road through good, flat farming country before swinging back south-westerly to return to the barrier of the Siúr again. The hours sped by and no one spoke beyond an occasional remark on the scenery through which they passed.
It was time to rest and water the horses, and to eat something. Rath Ard dominated this area, the fortress seat of one of the powerful nobles of the Múscraige Breogáin. Gormán wondered if it was Fidelma’s intention to seek hospitality at the fortress. Fidelma replied that she preferred to press on rather than undergo the rituals of hospitality that would be undoubtedly forced on them and perhaps delay their journey by another day. For the same reason, she did not want to call at the nearby abbey that Fionán the Leper had established near the banks of the River Siúr which was named after him – Ard Fhionáin, Fionán’s Height.
The abbey stood by a natural ford across the river and a small settlement had sprung up around it. It was a good location, set in pleasant scenery and provided a base for traders coming upriver to transfer their goods to smaller barges or pack animals before coming to the more inaccessible reaches of the kingdom. But the ford had always presented a problem, for the currents were fairly strong. In fact, the abbey of Fionán provided a ‘watcher by the ford’ to ensure that no accident went unobserved. A bell
hung ready to be rung to summon help if needed. But, as they rode beyond the abbey walls, both Fidelma and Eadulf were surprised to see a new bridge, its timbers hardly seasoned, now spanning the river.
‘It was only recently built,’ explained Gormán, when Eadulf commented on the fact. ‘The members of the abbey community built it.’
Fidelma did not seem to hear, her mind was occupied with other thoughts. In fact, she was reflecting that it was here, at this very spot, that she and Eadulf had first heard that their nurse Sárait had been murdered and their son Alchú had been kidnapped by the evil leper Uaman, Lord of the Passes of Sliabh Mis. Gormán had been in love with Sárait and was initially accused of her murder. She glanced anxiously at Gormán but there was no reason he would know of the connection. She wondered if Eadulf remembered and if he would mention it, but if he did remember, he gave no indication of it.
A tavern stood just before the new bridge. Gormán cleared his throat anxiously. He knew that Fidelma wanted to press on but they had been riding for some hours.
Fidelma took the hint; she realised that the horses did need watering. But she insisted that they did not stop long, only time enough to have their horses watered and to take food and drink in moderation for themselves.
They sat outside the inn, for the day was cloudless and warm. A stable lad attended to their horses while the innkeeper brought them their refreshments. The man had no other customers, so he remained with them and talked about the possibilities of a good harvest, the fine summer and the number of newcomers who were building their homes around the abbey. Fidelma was clearly impatient to continue the journey.
‘Is the bridge safe to cross?’ Eadulf inquired of the innkeeper as he was finishing his drink.
‘The bridge safe to cross?’ The innkeeper was a burly man, with balding head and slightly protruding eyes, and his jowls shook with laughter. ‘Bless you, Brother, an entire troop of the king’s horsemen could ride back and forth several times without disturbing one beam of it.’
‘I am not concerned with a troop of cavalry but only with my well-being,’ replied Eadulf dourly.
Before the conversation could be prolonged, Fidelma stood up and signalled to the stable lad to bring their horses. Gormán settled with the innkeeper and soon they were crossing the new bridge. Indeed, the bridge was built strongly, as it had to be, for the rushing waters of the Siúr beneath them pounded against its supports with alarming ferocity. The great sawn tree trunks on which the crossbeams rested had been driven deep into the river bed and there were about fifteen on each side. The width of it, like the Irish roads, according to Brehon Law, was broad enough to take two carriages, with room to spare between them. It was an easier crossing than last time, Eadulf remembered, when he had had to ford the rushing waters on horseback.
‘Well, a bridge certainly makes the old roadway easier to traverse,’ Fidelma observed. ‘We should make better time now.’
In fact, it was hardly any time before they came to the next natural obstacle across the track. This was a smaller river called the Teara, a tributary of the Siúr that they had just crossed. The ford here was easy, for there was an island in the middle of the river that divided it into two small crossings.
‘This is where they say the road took its name,’ Gormán suddenly said, tired of the silence of their journey.
‘I have travelled this road several times,’ Eadulf replied, ‘and never once worked out why it is called the “Track of Patrick’s Cow”.’
‘Why it is called Rian Bó Phádraig?’ Gormán hesitated and glanced at Fidelma. ‘There is an old legend.’
‘You may as well tell it,’ she invited. She had heard the legend before.
‘Well, the old folk say that the Blessed Pádraig, who helped bring the Faith especially to the northern kingdoms, had a cow and this cow had a calf. The cow and her calf were peacefully grazing on the banks of the Teara, this very river we are crossing. The story is that a thief from near Ard Mór stole the calf. The cow was consumed with anger at the loss of her calf and chased the thief all the way across the mountains to Ard Mór, and its tracks made this road.’
Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically.
‘But doesn’t this road lead from Cashel to Lios Mór?’ he pointed out in pedantic fashion.
‘And continues all the way on to Ard Mór,’ Gormán added, with a grin at his puzzled companion.
‘It is a legend,’ Fidelma intervened impatiently. ‘It is not to be taken literally. The road is far older than the time of the Blessed Pádraig. It joins the Slíge Dalla, the Way of the Blind, at Cashel, which, as you recall, is one of the five great roads that lead to Tara. There is no way of knowing why legends come about. The Blessed Ailbe converted our kingdom to the new Faith long before Pádraig arrived here and before Declan built his abbey at Ard Mór. Why would Pádraig have a cow grazing on the banks of the Teara River of all the rivers in Ireland? It makes no sense.’
‘Legends,’ Gormán solemnly announced, ‘are often the result of half-understood events, or events that have become embroidered out of all proportion by their retelling.’
‘Yet they are usually founded in truth,’ observed Eadulf.
‘The question is, how do you find that truth?’ Fidelma retorted.
‘Doesn’t the legend become its own truth?’ asked Gormán.
Eadulf chuckled. ‘You are becoming a philosopher, Gormán.’
The young warrior turned to him and, without warning, lunged
forward, knocking Eadulf off his horse with a single blow of his hand. As he fell, Eadulf was aware of a curious whistling sound in the air. Something thudded into a tree just behind his horse. Gormán yelled to Fidelma to take cover and at the same time drew his sword. He urged his cob forward towards a group of trees a short distance away along the side of the highway.
Fidelma had time to see a figure with drawn bow release a second arrow before she slithered from her mount and crouched down. She heard it whistle past, wide of its intended target.
‘Stay down!’ she cried, as she saw Eadulf trying to rise from the dust in the road where he had fallen.
‘Has Gormán gone mad?’ he protested, not having seen the arrow that had nearly embedded itself in him but was now stuck in the tree.
‘He just saved you from being shot,’ Fidelma replied grimly, peering forward. She ignored Eadulf’s exclamation of surprise as she saw Gormán, sword swinging, attack the man who was trying to place a third arrow into his bow. The sword struck him on the side of the neck and he gave a cry and went down. A second man was already mounted on a horse and was urging it away at a gallop. Gormán pursued him for a short distance but it was clear the man had a fresh, and therefore faster, mount. In fact, Gormán was also handicapped by an unwillingness to abandon Fidelma and Eadulf in case there were other attackers on the road. He wisely reined in his horse and gave up the pursuit. By the time the young warrior resheathed his sword and returned to them, the second man had disappeared.