Eadulf waited until she was ascending the stairs before he turned to Iarnbud.
‘What do you mean,’ he demanded angrily, ‘that the Britons have better sense?’
‘When the Bishop of Rome sent the Roman Augustine to Britain less than a hundred years ago, he decided to meet with the bishops of the Britons. He even chastised them for making no attempt to convert the Angles and Saxons to the New Faith before his coming. Augustine was an arrogant man who had swallowed the stories told him by the Saxons that the Britons were savages. So, when he met the bishops of the Britons, he pitched his camp on their borders and demanded that they come to him. When they did so, he remained seated, not even rising to greet his fellow bishops as was the custom, but launching into a tirade of criticism of their behaviour and rites and rituals. He ordered them to join him in converting the Saxons and accepting his church at the old capital of the British Cantii as their spiritual centre.’
Eadulf frowned. ‘The Cantii?’
‘The town or burgh, as you call it in your language, of the Cantii, Canterbury. Agustine was ignorant as well as arrogant. Did not the Britons have greater and older centres of their faith? There was Blessed Ninian’s great abbey of Candida Casa in Strath-Clóta with its extensive library. And the Blessed Dewi’s abbey of Menevia in Dyfed. Augustine was a brash upstart and the Britons were astounded at his behaviour. And when they refused to submit themselves to him, he lost his temper and in a rage told them that the Saxons would come and the Britons would suffer vengeance for refusing to meet his terms. On his return to his new Saxon flock, he even officially designated Athelberht, the King of Kent, as Bretwalda, ruler over all the Britons.’ Iarnbud’s voice was bitter. ‘So the Britons continued to flee from the Saxon arrogance in search of new lands to dwell in freedom.’
At this point, Bleidbara rose abruptly.
‘Forgive me. I have to be on board my ship early in the morning, for I have duties to attend to.’ The warrior bade a good night to them all and left through the door that led to the kitchen quarters.
No sooner had he departed than the girl, Argantken, rose and said something in pointed tones to Macliau. As the young man stared at her, it was clear to Fidelma from the way his eyes took time to focus that he had indulged himself a little too freely with wine. When Macliau answered her, in a slightly slurred speech, Fidelma was surprised to see the girl flush and reply in petulant fashion, even stamping her foot. Macliau’s face grew angry, his voice irate as he responded. The girl’s mouth became a thin line and she stomped her way across the room and up the stairs.
Macliau glanced at the company with an imbecilic grin, which was obviously meant to be one of apology, but Brother Metellus was pretending not to notice that anything was amiss.
‘We are all human beings,’ the monk was now pointing out, continuing the discussion that had been raging. ‘Augustine was a stranger in a strange land. He was a monk from the Caelian Hill in Rome, and had merely been wrongly advised as to the nature and history of the Britons.’
‘So ignorance excuses all things? Do you Romans not have a saying — ignorantia non excusat?’ Iarnbud riposted, picking up the thread again.
Macliau was chuckling and nodding approvingly.
‘A point well made, Iarnbud. I swear that I enjoy your visits. At least we are not wanting in stimulus.’
Fidelma had raised her head with interest. ‘So you do not reside in this fortress, Iarnbud?’
The bretat shook his head. ‘It is my choice to live on my little boat among the islands. I prefer life under the open sky.’
‘You have no fear of these thieves and murders?’ Eadulf enquired.
‘Fear?’ The sallow-faced man smiled thinly. ‘I fear only that the sky may fall and crush me, the sea may rise and drown me, or the earth may open and swallow me.’
Fidelma recognised the ancient ritual saying which meant that he feared nothing at all.
She glanced at Eadulf and raised a hand to her mouth as if to disguise a yawn. Eadulf took the hint and he rose, bowing slightly to Macliau.
‘This has been a long day for us. We will retire, with your permission.’
Fidelma followed him, leaving Macliau, Brother Metellus and Iarnbud still in conversation.
Once in their chamber Eadulf showed his irritation.
‘Well, I for one did not find Iarnbud’s conversation stimulating but rather insulting,’ he began, but Fidelma raised a finger to her lips.
‘You cannot change history and so you cannot stop people from giving their views on it, Eadulf,’ she admonished.
‘And what about those silly ghost stories of fishermen transporting souls at night?’
‘It is obvious that Iarnbud and, by logical deduction, Macliau and his sister do not want us investigating any strange lights along the shore at night. Their supernatural story was meant to frighten us. That is why I pretended to go along with it in the end, once I realised their intention.’
‘So you don’t believe in such phantoms as claimed by Iarnbud?’ queried Eadulf.
‘You should know me better by now,’ she rebuked him. ‘However, I have read Procopius.’
‘Procopius?’ Eadulf repeated.
‘The Byzantine historian who wrote about the Gothic Wars as part of his History of the Wars of Justinian. Just over a hundred years ago he recounted this story of the transportation of souls, the belief of the people of this very area of Gaul. I have heard the tale many times and yet we cannot go through life believing all the old folklore and legends.’
‘If it was a story purposely told to stop us investigating what was happening on the shore, what do you intend?’ Eadulf had gone to the window and was watching the area where they had previously seen the lights. There was no sign of any light or movement there now, although he could just make out pinpricks of light from the distant islands. The large ship was still a fairly discernible black shadow in the inlet below.
‘It is too late now but I think we should go to the shore tomorrow and see if we can discover anything,’ she said. ‘Particularly, I would like to examine that ship to see if it is painted black and has a dove engraved on its bow.’
‘I doubt we will see anything,’ Eadulf said in resignation, returning to the bed. ‘They have had plenty of warning to change things, having heard our story.’
‘Yet why do so at all when they could simply silence us? The captain had no compunction about slaughtering Bressal or Murchad.’ She was silent for a moment, and Eadulf knew she was mastering her emotions. Eventually she went on: ‘I was trying to work out the relationship between Macliau and the girl Argantken. She is without finesse.’
‘That one is easy enough,’ shrugged Eadulf indifferently. ‘She is his mistress.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘Would a chieftain’s son bring his mistress into his father’s house? She is lacking in grace and manners…’
‘De gustibus et coloribus non est disputandum,’ sighed Eadulf. About tastes and colours there is no disputing, meaning it was better not to argue about matters of personal preference.
He was about to get into bed when through the window came the sound of raised voices, as if in argument. They were speaking in the language of the Bretons but their tones sounded familiar.
‘There you are,’ grinned Eadulf. ‘I’ll wager that is Macliau and Argantken.’
Fidelma swung out of the bed and went swiftly to listen at the window. The voices continued for a few moments and then suddenly ceased. She told Eadulf, ‘If I took that wager, you would lose. That was Trifina, and I swear the second voice was that of Bleidbara.’
‘And if that were so, what of it?’ Eadulf enquired tiredly, lying down.
‘Did you notice that Bleidbara seems to be enamoured with the lady Trifina, who studiously ignores him, but the girl with the dark hair who was serving us was making cow’s eyes at him while he acted oblivious to her?’