Eadulf had not heard the expression ‘cow’s eyes’ before but he got the idea.
‘I wonder what they were arguing about?’ mused Fidelma as she returned to the bed.
‘Unrequited love?’ yawned Eadulf. ‘If the young man is enamoured of Trifina, then maybe he chose this moment to seek her out and make his protestation of love. And if she was not interested, she might well have stated it in strong terms. Is it really any of our concern?’
Fidelma pulled a face at him.
‘I am not concerned at all. Mysteries interest me, that is all. Anyway, we’ve had a long day. We will talk about these things tomorrow.’
Chapter Eight
Eadulf came awake with a start. The room was bathed in that cold light that marks the moments after an early-summer sunrise when the sun is still shrouded by cloud. He wondered what had disturbed him and then he heard a movement by the window. Fidelma was sitting there, wrapped in a cloak and staring out to sea. Eadulf eased himself up on the bed.
‘What’s wrong?’ He found himself speaking in a whisper.
Fidelma glanced at him without moving from her perch on the sill.
‘I’ve been sitting here watching since just before dawn. Sometimes, at that hour, people will move about thinking the world is asleep. I was hoping to see the ship and get some explanation for the lights last night.’
‘Is it the same ship?’ queried Eadulf, swinging from the bed.
Fidelma beckoned him. ‘See for yourself.’
Eadulf hastened across the cold boards and stared out. The ship had gone. There was no sign of it.
‘If you were here before dawn, then the ship sailed in the night,’ he gasped. ‘Bleidbara must have moved it immediately after the meal, warned by our conversation. Perhaps we should not have referred to it?’ he added in mild rebuke.
‘I feel that the answer to this mystery is out there — on one of those islands,’ Fidelma continued, ignoring his censure. ‘I can see no sign of the vessel at all.’
‘The banner of a dove flies above this castle,’ contradicted Eadulf. ‘The answer must be here.’
‘I was thinking that if the answer was that simple, then our presence should have concerned our hosts enough to attempt to be rid of us.’
Eadulf shivered a little and tried to put it down to the early-morning chill. He went to put on his sandals before returning to stare out at the seascape before him. There was a faint morning mist rising from the dark outlines of the islands dotting the waters of Morbihan. The sea was flat and calm, glinting now and then as the sun broke through the clouds. Visibility was fair but he could see no movement on the waters.
‘We are not even sure that Bleidbara’s ship is the sea-raider,’ he said reasonably.
‘It would be a coincidence if it were not,’ Fidelma mused. ‘It would explain how the ship’s cat reached the abbey.’ Observing her husband’s hesitation, she went on: ‘Let’s consider this: our ship is attacked and you observe a carving of a dove, which is a strange emblem for a warship to have. It sails off, having taken our ship as a prize. We escape and eventually land here, where we come across the ship’s cat, wandering wild. We find a merchant and his companions attacked, killed and robbed. One of the slain has a torn banner clutched in his hand that also bears the symbol of a dove. We are told that this symbol is the emblem of the lord of Brilhag. We are more or less taken prisoner by his warriors and brought inside this fortress where the same flag of these raiders flies above us. We see a warship anchored in the inlet below which is said to be in the service of this same lord and captained by the commander of his warriors, Bleidbara. There are strange lights along the shore and we are told some ancient legend which is meant to scare us from investigation. What is the logical deduction?’
Eadulf smiled wanly. ‘You have always taught me that there can be more than one answer,’ he pointed out.
A frown of irritation crossed Fidelma’s brow, since she immediately admitted to herself that he was right. The logic was tenuous — and it was only the mystery of how Luchtigern, the cat, had come to the abbey that made her determined to follow that logic.
‘Very well. If there is more than one logical interpretation of these facts, then it is the task of the dálaigh to investigate and discover which is the correct one,’ she said at last.
Eadulf was about to respond when there was a knock on the door. It was the mournful girl who had been in charge of the servants during the night before.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, ‘but I heard your voices and wondered whether I can be of assistance to you? I can order the preparation of your breakfast, if you wish.’
Automatically Fidelma replied that they would wash first and come down for breakfast later.
The girl inclined her head and was about to leave the chamber when a thought suddenly occurred to Fidelma.
‘Wait,’ she called. The girl turned expectantly back into the room. ‘What is your function here?’
‘I am the stewardess of this household, in charge of the running of its domestic affairs and of all the household attendants.’
‘You speak excellent Latin,’ Fidelma commented. ‘What is your name?’
‘Iuna, lady.’ A faint smile hovered on the girl’s lips but did not form completely. It was as if she had disciplined her features to remove all emotions from them. ‘You are about to observe how can a mere servant be educated? This is Armorica, lady — although we now call it Little Britain by virtue of the refugees from Britain that have flocked to our shores during recent centuries.’
She seemed to offer it as an explanation. Eadulf remained puzzled and said so, and therefore the girl continued with further explanation.
‘This was part of Gaul, conquered by the Romans, and it became a province of their empire centuries ago. Many of the great families were brought up for generations as bilingual, with Latin as well as their native tongue. You will even find that many of the Britons who came here were also adept in Latin, for Britain, too, was a province of Rome. So many people speak Latin quite naturally and as well as they speak their own language.’
‘Ah,’ smiled Eadulf, ‘then it also explains why your Latin is so different from that which we were taught.’
Fidelma thought she should say something here in case the girl thought he was insulting her command of the language.
‘My land, Hibernia, was never part of the Roman empire, and the Latin we have learned is from the texts, not the colloquial form that you speak as a living language. I have noticed that Iarnbud also speaks a Latin that does not derive from the ancient texts.’
The girl shrugged as if she was uninterested. However, Fidelma saw a glimmer of suspicion in her eyes.
‘How long have you been in service here?’ she asked.
‘Most of my life,’ the girl replied shortly. ‘Now if there is anything you desire…?’
‘What are your bathing customs here?’ Fidelma attempted to mollify her. ‘We did not bathe last night and I should have asked but neglected to do so.’
‘You have only to express your wishes, lady,’ replied the girl. ‘They will be fulfilled.’
As Eadulf knew, the people of Fidelma’s land bathed daily, generally in the evening when, before the main meal, they had a full body wash in hot water. It was a custom Eadulf still found slightly alien, for he had grown up when a bath, apart from a swim in a local river, was very infrequent. Baths were attended with perfumes and soap called sléic. In the morning, it was the custom to wash only the face and hands and often in cold water. So Fidelma passed on her wants to the girl and was assured that bowls of water would be brought to them immediately, together with any toilet articles that might be wanted.
When they eventually came down into the great hall for breakfast, they found no one else there except the girl, luna, preparing the table.