Fidelma coloured a little. There was some truth in what Eadulf said. She knew it. Yet it was the way of her people. How was it growing into the problem that was causing Eadulf to behave so belligerently?
‘Eadulf, you have never talked this way before,’ she said defensively.
‘Perhaps I have been too compliant. It is, indeed, my great fault that I have not done so before now.’
‘You do not believe what you are saying, Eadulf. I know you too well to accept that you believe in the dictums of Paul of Tarsus on the obedience of women to men.’
Eadulf’s truculent features suddenly dissolved into an expression of sadness.
‘Fidelma, I am a Saxon, not an Éireannach. I was taught that my ancestors sprang from the loins of Woden, that no one was as great as we were and no other Saxon was as great as those of the South Folk. People trembled at our word. Were we not of the race of Wegdaeg, son of Woden, and of Uffa, who drove the Britons from the land we then took as our own?’
Fidelma gazed at him in astonishment.
She had heard such diatribes from Saxon princelings and warriors about the glories of their people but she had never heard it from the lips of Eadulf before. She did not know how to answer him.
Eadulf gazed at her with an agonised look.
‘What I am trying to say, Fidelma, is that imbued with such spirit I have tried to accept the mantle of charity and brotherhood that is the mark of the Faith. Fursa, a wandering monk of your own race, taught me, when I had scarcely reached manhood. I was not brought up in the Faith but I forsook and forswore the old gods of the South Folk on my twentieth birthday. I was hereditary gerefa, magistrate, of the thane of Seaxmund’s Ham. I have pride, Fidelma. I have self-esteem. I have the vanity of my race. It is sometimes hard for me to find myself here. I am a stranger in a strange land.’
Fidelma felt the bewildered misery in his voice.
‘I thought that you liked this country,’ she said, trying to formulate her thoughts.
‘I do, otherwise I would not have spent so much time here. I came here to learn the canons of the Faith long before I met you. But it is hard to completely turn one’s back on one’s homeland and one’s culture. During this last year, I have especially been reminded of what it is that I miss.’
‘This last year? Since we married? Since we had little Alchú?’
Eadulf gestured helplessly with his arms.
‘You want to return to your own land?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’
‘I could never live in that country, Eadulf. That is why I tried to keep our relationship at a distance.’
‘I know.’
She hesitated and then took a step towards him.
‘Eadulf…’ she began.
There was a knock on the door and the servant came back with a jug of Gaulish wine and pottery mugs. The moment of intimacy had gone.
‘Do you want me to continue cleaning, lady?’ the woman asked. ‘I had only just come to the chamber when you entered.’
Fidelma shook her head. She was turning aside when her eye was caught by a garment hanging out of a small wooden chest, not properly folded away. The chest stood near Alchú’s cot. She shivered slightly, not wishing to go near it.
‘Just tuck that in before you go,’ she instructed the servant. ‘I do not like to see things left untidy. If you are to clean these chambers, make sure that such things are put away.’
The servant seemed about to speak but then she shrugged and went to carry out the instruction. There was silence until she left the room.
Eadulf was helping himself liberally to the wine. His movements still implied suppressed anger.
Fidelma spoke with a considered calm.
‘Eadulf, we are both in a state of emotional uncertainty. We have a crisis confronting us. There must be peace between us if we are to overcome this matter.’
Eadulf glanced at her. His expression did not change. He shrugged.
‘I cannot continue like this, Fidelma,’ he said simply. ‘When we did not have any formal marriage between us, I did not feel the antipathy that I am now subjected to by the people who surround you. What I cannot stand is the way that your actions and attitude to me now seem to condone the antagonism that is ranged against me.’
Fidelma considered for a while before responding.
‘I cannot change my character, Eadulf. For a long while, as you well know, I refused to make any decision about a resolution of the feelings we had for one another. I knew that, if you settled here in Cashel with me, you would be classed as a foreigner in our law, a landless foreigner with restricted rights. There are decisions that I have to make under our law which you cannot make.’
‘Your law is not my law, Fidelma. There is much we must consider about the future.’
‘Shall it be peace between us until we have regained our son?’ she asked quietly.
Eadulf pursed his lips and thought for a moment.
‘Let it be peace,’ he finally said. ‘As soon as Alchú is returned safely to us and those responsible are discovered, then we shall talk. Absit invidia,’ he added. Let ill will be absent.
Fidelma smiled sadly. ‘Mox nox in rem’ she said solemnly, using the Latin phrase to answer his. Soon night, to the business.
‘What can we do until there is an answer to our request for some proof that the ransom note is genuine?’
‘I have some inquiries to make about a certain green silk cloak, remember?’ Fidelma reminded him. ‘And that I am about to do now.’ Eadulf made a move to join her but she shook her head quickly. This time, I shall have go alone. The matter is … personal.’
Eadulf was worried. ‘Where are you going? I should know if there is danger beyond these walls.’
‘I do not think there is danger for me, Eadulf. Otherwise I would tell you. In this matter, I have to keep my own counsel in case I am making a mistake. But I can assure you of this: I am not going beyond the confines of the township below and I will be back soon.’
Eadulf was reluctant to let it go at that.
‘I swear, Eadulf,’ she went on, ‘as soon as I return, we will eat and I will tell you where my suspicions have taken me.’
Eadulf knew when to accept the inevitable.
Chapter Nine
Fidelma left the palace alone, in spite of the protests of the guards on duty at the gate who wanted to send a warrior with her as escort, in view of the perceived threat from the Uí Fidgente. She rode down the hill into the township below. Dusk was settling across the buildings and a thin mist was just rising, making everything seem gloomy and chill. She made her way across the nearly deserted square. At the far end was the inn on whose door she could see the demand for proof that the abductors had Alchú. It was tacked to the doorpost, illuminated by the lantern light, for every inn, whether in the country or in the town, was required by law to hang a lantern outside during the hours of darkness. She presumed that Cerball had finished his work and that Capa had now set off to get these notices set up as instructed.
The noise of music and laughter came from the inn. It sounded carefree and boisterous. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps she should have let Eadulf know where she was going. She became aware of a group of children outside the inn; two or three older children who she guessed were awaiting one or other of their parents who were inside. They seemed engrossed in some game by the light of the lantern. She made a sudden decision and called to them.
‘Would one of you like to earn a pingín by taking a message up to the palace?’
The tallest child, a boy, looked up at her.
‘Only a pingín?’ he protested. ‘It was worth a screpall last time.’
Fidelma gazed at him in surprised silence for a moment. Then she said: ‘Last time?’