Brother Tola folded his arms across his chest and gazed out across the now calm seas.
‘A pleasant enough day now,’ he sighed. ‘In other circumstances this voyage could be stimulating and rewarding.’
Fidelma looked at him questioningly.
‘Why is it not so?’
Brother Tola leant his head back against the mast and closed his eyes.
‘My fellow pilgrims leave much to be desired in a company supposedly pledged to the religious pursuit. I swear there is not a truly committed servant of God among them.’
‘You think not?’
The monk’s face was severe.
‘I think not. Not even you, Fidelma of Cashel. Would you claim to be first and foremost a servant of the Christ?’ His eyes came open and Fidelma found his bright, dark orbs examining her unblinkingly. She shivered slightly.
‘I would hope that I am a servant of the Faith,’ she countered defensively.
He surprised her by shaking his head negatively.
‘I do not think so. You are a servant of the law, not of religion.’
Fidelma considered his accusation carefully.
‘Are the two things incompatible?’ she asked.
‘They can be,’ replied Brother Tola. ‘In many cases, the old saying is correct, that one’s religion is whatever one is most interested in.’
‘I do not agree.’
Brother Tola smiled cynically.
‘I think that you are more interested in your law than in your religion.’
Fidelma hesitated, for Tola’s words struck home like an arrow. Wasn’t that the very reason she was on this pilgrimage, to sort out her thoughts on this matter? Tola saw the confusion on her face and smiled in satisfaction before resuming his posture, leaning back and closing his eyes.
‘Do not be confused, Fidelma of Cashel. You are merely one of many thousands in the same position. Before the Faith was brought to the Five Kingdoms, you would have been a dalaigh or Brehon without having to wear the garb of a religieuse. Our society confused learning with religion and inexorably the two were bound as though they were one.’
‘There are still bardic colleges,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘I attended that of Brehon Morann at Tara. I only entered the religious life after I obtained my degree.’
‘Morann of Tara? He was a good man; a good judge and professor of law.’ Brother Tola was approving. ‘But when he died, what happened to his college?’
Fidelma realised that she did not know and admitted as much.
‘It was absorbed into the Church on the order of the Comarb of Patrick.’ The Comarb was the successor of Patrick who was Bishop at Armagh, one of the two senior religious figures of the Five Kingdoms. The other was the Comarb of Ailbe who was the Bishop of Emly in Fidelma’s own kingdom. ‘Morann’s college should have remained outside the Church. Secular and ecclesiastic learning are often conflicting paths.’
‘I don’t agree,’ she countered stiffly, rebuking herself that she had not known that her old college had been closed down.
‘I am a religieux,’ Brother Tola went on. ‘There is certainly room for learning within the Church but not to the exclusion of religion itself.’
Fidelma felt annoyed at his implied criticism of her role as a dalaigh.
‘I have not excluded religion from my life. I have studied and-’
‘Studied?’ Brother Tola made a noise which took Fidelma a few moments to realise was meant as a sardonic chuckle. ‘Those whoclaim to achieve things from book learning might do much more by merely listening to God.’
‘The sky and the trees and the rivers tell me little about the world of man,’ Fidelma replied. ‘My instruction comes from the experiences of men and women.’
‘Ah, therein is the difference between the pursuit of a religious life and the pursuit of learning.’
‘Truth is the goal of our lives,’ returned Fidelma. ‘You do not find truth without knowledge and, as Brehon Morann used to say, “love of learning is to come close to knowledge”.’
‘Whose knowledge? Man’s knowledge. Man’s law. You speak eloquently, Fidelma. But remember the words of James: “The kind of religion which is without stain or fault in the sight of God our Father is this: to keep oneself untarnished by the world”.’
‘You have left out an important part of that sentence, the piece about going to the help of orphans and widows in distress,’ she said waspishly. ‘I believe I do help those in distress.’
‘But you tarnish yourself by maintaining man’s law in preference to God’s Commandments.’
‘I see nothing contradictory between the Commandments and man’s law. Since you are fond of quoting the epistle of James, you should remember the lines — “the man who looks closely into the perfect law, the law that makes us free, and who lives in its company, does not forget what he hears, but acts upon it; and that is the man who by acting will find happiness”. I have heard and have not forgotten and act upon the law, and this is why I have come to speak with you, Brother Tola. Not to engage in a discussion on our differences of theology.’
Her voice was sharp now. Yet she felt uncomfortable for she knew that Tola must have spotted her weakness; her pride in being a dalaigh and not simply a religieuse.
‘I hear you, Sister Fidelma,’ he replied. His face was still serious but Fidelma could not help feeling that he was secretly laughing at her discomfiture. Then he intoned softly:
‘ … do not think lightly of the Lord’s discipline,
Nor lose heart when He corrects you;
For the Lord disciplines those whom He loves.
He lays the rod on every son and daughter whom He
acknowledges.’
Fidelma suppressed her annoyance.
‘Hebrews, twelve,’ she stated with a tight smile meant to demonstrate that he was not going to impress her with his knowledge of Scripture. ‘But now, I have some questions that I must ask you on behalf of Murchad, the captain.’
‘I know, as I have already said. Sister Ainder has spoken about your enquiries.’
‘Good. You are older than most of your party, Brother. Why did you come on this pilgrimage?’
‘Need I make an answer?’
‘I have no compulsion to make you do so.’
‘That is not what I meant. I meant that it should be obvious.’
‘I take it that you are saying that your pilgrimage was made because of religious conviction? Surely that is obvious. But why did you choose to join Sister Canair’s group? They are quite young, with the exception of Sister Ainder. And according to your view, your fellow travellers are not truly concerned with religion.’
‘Sister Canair’s group was the only party journeying to the Holy Shrine of St James. Had I not travelled with them, I might not have found group for another year at least. There was a place for me and so I joined them.’
‘Did you know Sister Canair and the others before you joined them?’
‘I knew none of them except those from my own Abbey of Bangor.’
‘Being Brothers Cian, Dathal and Adamrae?’
‘Just so.’
‘You have indicated that you found them an ill-assorted group.’
‘Most certainly.’
‘Does that opinion include Sister Muirgel?’
Brother Tola opened his eyes wide and a spasm contorted his features.
‘A most distasteful young woman! I disliked her most of all!’
Fidelma was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.
‘Why so?’
‘I remember when she first tried to dominate our company of travellers on the basis that her father had been chieftain of the Dal Fiatach. He was nothing to boast about — an evil rascal out for power and self-aggrandisement. Sister Muirgel was the daughter of her father.’
‘With your views, surely that would make you hesitate before joining Sister Canair’s group?’