Bressal smiled in sympathy. ‘He is a good man in spite of-’ He suddenly hesitated and flushed.
‘In spite of being a Saxon?’ Fidelma turned to him, her eyes bright. There was no bitterness in her voice.
Bressal shrugged. ‘One hears so many bad tales about the Saxons, Cousin. One naturally asks: if those tales are true, how can a man of such worth as Eadulf come from such a people?’
‘There is good and bad in all people, Cousin,’ Fidelma rebuked mildly.
‘I am not denying it,’ Bressal agreed. ‘Though you must admit that there was great consternation from certain quarters when you announced that you were marrying him.’
‘Mainly protests from people who wish to bring in the ideas of those esoteric fanatics who want all members of the religious to follow this concept of celibacy.’
‘Those do not count for much,’ dismissed Bressal. ‘I was thinking of some of our own people, the nobles who felt that you should marry a prince of the Five Kingdoms and not a Saxon stranger.’
Fidelma’s eyes flashed dangerously for a moment. ‘And were you of that number?’ she asked.
Bressal grinned in amusement. ‘I had not met Eadulf then.’
‘And now that you have?’ she pressed.
‘I realise that people cannot make judgements until they know the individual. Eadulf is now one of us. I will stand with him and draw my sword to defend his rights.’
The ship suddenly lurched as a rogue wave hit against its side. Fidelma staggered a moment, then she turned, laughing at her cousin who was also trying to balance.
‘I don’t think Eadulf will be in the mood to stand with anyone at the moment,’ she observed dryly. She looked up at the sails. They were not filling as she had expected. The southerly winds were mild, which made the ship’s progress very slow. Gurvan, the mate, saw her gaze and called across to her.
‘Typical summer winds here, lady,’ he offered. ‘Mild and slow. That was just a freak wave, as we call them. But once we get through the Treizh an Tagnouz Passage we ought to pick up a stronger wind. That won’t be too long now. By tomorrow we’ll be making good time, you’ll see.’
Fidelma acknowledged his encouragement with a wave of her hand.
‘We came through this Tagnouz Passage on our voyage here,’ commented Bressal. ‘It means nasty in the local language. It runs between some islands and the main coast but it is quite a wide one. You can barely see land on either side.’
‘I was meaning to ask, why did my brother choose you as his envoy on this trip?’ she asked curiously.
‘Mainly because I speak the language of the Britons which is similar to those of the people of this land. Remember, I spent some time in Dyfed at the court of Gwlyddien after you had rendered him great service when you were there.’
‘And was the King of this land easy to negotiate with?’
‘Alain Hir? He is pleasant enough. His people seem to have many ways that are similar to our lifestyle. But, like most kings, envy, greed and intrigue surround him. I’ll tell you about a rumour I heard…’
‘Would you care for a meal, lady?’ interrupted a shrill voice. Wenbrit, the young cabin boy whom she had befriended on the pilgrim voyage, had come on deck. ‘The sun is beyond its zenith, and I have some dried meats and cheeses in the cabin and a flagon of the local cider to wash it down with.’
Fidelma smiled softly at the young boy. ‘I think I am hungry,’ she confessed. ‘Have you called Eadulf?’
‘I did ask, but he simply threw something at me and turned over in his bunk.’ The boy chuckled mischievously.
‘Then we should leave him to his agonies,’ said Bressal. ‘Let’s go and eat, Cousin.’
It felt strange for Fidelma to be eating with her cousin in the main cabin of the Barnacle Goose. It was a long time since she had regularly eaten there, but then it had been filled with the many pilgrims from the great abbey of Magh Bile en route to the Holy Shrine of Blessed James. Now there was only her Cousin Bressal, herself and Eadulf who were passengers on the ship. The rest of the vessel, apart from the crew’s quarters, had been given over to the storage of salt, packed in great sacks.
Being on board, for Fidelma, was like being among old friends. She was even delighted to see the large male black cat sitting regarding her solemnly with bright green eyes from the top of a cupboard. Luchtigern — ‘the Mouse Lord’, as he was called — had actually saved her life during the voyage to the Shrine of Blessed James. Now the animal seemed to recognise her and leaped down, gave a soft ‘miaow’ and strode with almost aristocratic poise across to her, rubbing himself against her leg. She bent down to stroke the sleek black fur. On the back of its head she felt a hard lump in its fur.
Wenbrit, who was setting the plates, noticed her frown. ‘Something wrong, lady?’ he asked.
‘Luchtigern seems to have a lump on the back of his head,’ she said. She did not like to see animals ill or in discomfort.
The cat, having allowed itself to be petted for a moment or two, now turned and then, with a shake of its body implying its independence, moved off on some unknown errand.
‘Don’t worry, lady.’ Wenbrit made a reassuring gesture. ‘It is just a piece of pitch that has become entangled in his fur. I am going to cut it out later.’
Fidelma knew that pitch, a resin drawn from pinewood, was used to waterproof sails and even the hulls of ships, as well as domestic jars and pots. It was a viscous black liquid that stuck and formed a hard surface or lumps. However, Luchtigern did not seem to mind the sticky lump on the back of his neck.
Fidelma recalled how she had discussed with Wenbrit the reason why the animal was called ‘the Mouse Lord’, for there had been a legendary cat who dwelled in the Caves of Dunmore in Éireann who had defeated all the warriors of the King of Laigin. They had wanted it killed, but ‘the Mouse Lord’ was far too wily for the warriors. Fidelma smiled at the memory, and recalled how Luchtigern had saved her life by warning her of an assassin’s approach.
Fidelma was looking forward to their arrival in her brother’s capital of Cashel. She longed to see her young son, Alchú, and had begun to regret missing so much time in his company. She should have been watching him develop from baby to young boyhood. But then, she had chosen the career of law and, as sister to the King, she had duties and obligations to fulfil. Yet she hoped that there would be no other demands on her time for the foreseeable future. She and Eadulf deserved a rest after all their travels on behalf of her brother. Fidelma shook herself subconsciously as she realised that regret could easily turn to resentment.
Her mind shifted to her husband.
Poor Eadulf. He was lying prone in their cabin, the same cabin that she had occupied on the pilgrim voyage, and was probably feeling that death would be a worthwhile alternative to the voyage home. He was not a good sailor at the best of times. Even though the weather was clement, he had begun to feel queasy almost as soon as they had left the mouth of the great River Liger down which they had travelled from Nebirnum, on their return to Naoned from their perilous quest at the Council of Autun. That had truly been a council of the cursed. Once out of the Liger they had swung northward along what was called ‘the Wild Coast’. It was then that Eadulf had to take to his bunk.
Wenbrit brought them bread, still fresh, for he had purchased it just before they had hoisted sail, and some cold meats with a jug of cider.
‘To a good voyage,’ toasted Bressal, raising his mug.
‘To a quick one,’ replied Fidelma.
‘You are thinking of little Alchú,’ observed her cousin.
She nodded wistfully.
‘Have no fear for him,’ her cousin replied. ‘It was only a few weeks ago I saw him, just before I left Cashel. Muirgen and Nessán take great care of him, as if he were their own child. They seem to have no regrets about quitting their shepherd’s life at Gabhlán to come and serve you as nurse and…’