Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham had been the only man of her own age in whose company she had felt really at ease and able to express herself.
Perhaps she had started the argument on Faith as a means of testing Cass.
Then, why should she want to test Cass? For what purpose? Because she wanted Eadulf's company and was looking for a surrogate?
She gave a hiss of breath in the darkness, scandalized by the idea. A ridiculous idea.
After all, she had spent several days in Cass's company on the journey here and there had been no problem.
Perhaps the key to the situation lay in the fact that she was, indeed, trying to recreate Eadulf and that recreation had been prompted by the fact that she was investigating a murder with Cass as her companion whereas, before, it was Eadulf who had been her comrade, the sounding board against which she could bounce her ideas.
But why should she want to recreate Eadulf?
She exhaled again sharply as if to expel the very thoughts from her mind. Then she turned over and buried her face angrily into the pillow.
Chapter Seven
The weather had changed again with the bewildering rapidity that was common to the islands and peninsulas of the south-west of Muman. While the sky remained a clear, almost translucent blue, the sun shone with a warmth which made the day more akin to the dying summer than to late autumn. The high winds had been dispelled although a sea breeze remained, blustery but not strong. Therefore, the sea was not totally calm, more choppy and brooding, causing the ships, anchored in the inlet before Ros Ailithir, to jerk now and then at their moorings. Above, in the gull-dominated sky, large, dark-colored cormorants also wheeled and dived, fighting for a place to fish among the plaintive, protesting shrieks of their companions. Here and there, sooty, white-rumped storm petrels, driven seaward by the previous stormy weather, were now returning to the coastline.
Fidelma had perched herself on the top of the thick stone wall of the monastery, where a walkway ran around it as if it were a battlement. She gazed thoughtfully down into the inlet. There were a few local fishing boats, a couple of coastal vessels or barca and an oceangoing vessel which traded with Britain or Gaul. She had been told that it was a Frankish merchantman. But it was the warship of the Laigin king, lying menacingly near the entrance to the harbor, with its sleek, malevolent lines, which took her interest.
Fidelma had sat for a long while, arms folded, examining the vessel with curiosity. She wondered what Fianamail, the young king of Laigin, hoped to gain by such an intimidating display. She could understand that demanding the territory of Osraige as an honor price was merely a political move to regain the lost territory, but he was certainly being blatant about it. No one would surely believe that the death of the Venerable Dacán, even though he was a cousin to the Laigin king, merited the return of a land which had held allegiance to Cashel for over five hundred years. Why would Fianamail threaten war over such a matter?
She gazed down on the fluttering silk standard of the Laigin kings, proudly streaking in the sea breeze which caught at the mast head. There were several warriors on deck practicing their weaponry arts, which she felt was rather ostentatious and more for the benefit of observers on the shore than for the Laigin warriors to keep in practice.
Fidelma wished that she had paid more attention to that section of the Book of Acaill, the great law code, which dwelt specifically with the muir-bretha or sea laws. The law should surely say whether such intimidation was allowed. She had a vague feeling that the writhe, placed at the gates of the abbey, meant something in this connection but she was not sure what. She wondered whether the Tech Screptra, the library of the abbey, might have copies of the law books which she could consult on the subject.
The single bell announcing the tierce rang out from the bell house.
Fidelma pulled herself away from the mesmerizing scene, rose and proceeded to walk back, along the wooden walkway along the monastery wall, toward the steps which led to the interior grounds of Ros Ailithir. A familiar figure was standing looking out to sea a little farther along the wall. It was the plump Sister Eisten. She did not notice Fidelma, so intent was her gaze on the inlet.
Fidelma arrived at her side unnoticed.
"A beautiful morning, sister," she greeted.
Sister Eisten started and turned, her mouth rounded in surprise. She blinked and carefully inclined her head.
"Sister Fidelma. Yes. It is beautiful." There was no warmth in her reply.
"How are you today?"
"I am well."
The terse, monosyllabic tones seemed forced.
"That is good. You have come through a bad experience. And is the little boy well now?"
Sister Eisten looked confused.
"Little boy?"
"Yes. Has he recovered from his nightmare?" When she saw that Sister Eisten still did not appear to understand, she added: "The boy whose name is Cosrach. You were nursing him yesterday afternoon."
Sister Eisten blinked rapidly.
"Oh… yes." She did not sound sure.
"Sister Fidelma!"
Fidelma turned as she heard her name called. It was young Sister Necht, hurrying up the steps to the walkway. She seemed anxious and Fidelma had a curious feeling that her anxiety was at finding Sister Eisten with Fidelma.
"Brother Rumann is ready to see you now, sister," Sister Necht announced. "He's waiting impatiently at the hostel."
Fidelma paused and glanced at Eisten. "Are you sure all is well with you?"
"All is well, thank you," she replied without conviction.
"Well, if you have need of a soul-friend, you have but to call upon me."
In the Irish Church, unlike the Roman custom where all were ordered to make a confession of their sins to a priest, each person had an anamchara, or a soul-friend. The position of the soul-friend was one of trust. He or she was not a confessor but more of a confidant, a spiritual guide who acted according to the practices of the faith of the five kingdoms. Fidelma's soul-friend, since she had reached the age of choice, had been Liadin of the Ui Dróna, her girlfriend since childhood. But it did not necessarily follow that the soul-friend had to be of the same sex. Colmcille and others who were leaders of the Faith had chosen soul-friends of the opposite sex.
Eisten was shaking her head swiftly.
"I already have a soul-friend in this abbey," she said uncompromisingly.
Fidelma sighed as she unwillingly turned to follow Sister Necht. Of course all was not well with Eisten. There was something continuing to trouble her. She was about to descend the stairs when Sister Eisten's voice stayed her.
"Tell me, sister…"
Fidelma turned inquiringly back to the morose young anchoress. She was still staring glumly out to sea.
"Tell me, sister, can a soul-friend betray one's confidence?"
"If they do, then I fail to see how they can be a soul-friend," Fidelma replied at once. "It depends on the circumstances."
"Sister!" It was Necht agitating from the foot of the stair.