Cathal agreed, albeit reluctantly.
‘As you will, Fidelma. But the mountains are no place to be caught abroad at night without shelter.’ The abbot, however, was only too well aware that he was not talking to a simple religieuse but to the sister of his king. What she decided was not something he could challenge with any authority. ‘I will get one of our brothers to prepare food and drink for your journey and see that your horses are watered and saddled.’
Abbot Cathal rose and left the room.
As the door shut behind him a metamorphosis overcame the solemn features of Fidelma. She wheeled round and caught the hands of the Saxon monk. There was a bubbling humour in her green-blue eyes. The natural expression of merriment on her fresh, attractive face would make even the most sombre of religious wonder why such an alluring young woman had taken up the life of holy orders. Her tall, yet well-proportioned figure seemed to express a desire for a more active and joyous role in life than that in the cloistered confines of a religious community.
‘Eadulf! But I had heard that you were on your way back to the land of the Saxons?’
Eadulf’s expression reformed itself in an embarrassed grin at her enthusiasm at seeing him again.
‘Not yet awhile. When I heard that Beccan was coming to find you, in order to send you on this journey to Araglin, I told your brother that I would like to see something of the country and thelaw in operation. It gives me an excuse to stay a little longer in this land.’
‘It is good that you have come. If the truth be told, I was so bored here in Lios Mhór. It will be good to get up into the mountains; into the sweet air and have someone to talk with about this and that …’
Eadulf laughed. It was a pleasant, good-natured laugh.
‘I have learnt what your sort of talk means,’ he replied pointedly.
This time it was her turn to laugh. She had missed the debates which she used to have with Eadulf. Missed the way she could tease Eadulf over their conflicting opinions and philosophies; the way he would always rise with good humour to the bait which she threw at him. Their arguments would rage but there was no enmity between them. They learned together as they examined their interpretations of the moral principles of the founding fathers of their Faith and passionately contested their ideas of life.
Eadulf was suddenly serious as he gazed at her animated features.
‘I, too, have missed our talks,’ he said quietly.
They stared at one another in silence and then the door opened abruptly and Abbot Cathal came in. They moved apart in embarrassment.
‘It is done. The food will be ready. In fact, you are in luck. I am told that there is a farmer from Araglin who is just about to start on his return journey there. He can guide you on your way.’
Fidelma regarded him hesitantly.
‘A farmer? Is he young or middle-aged?’ she queried cautiously.
Abbot Cathal stared perplexed for a moment and then shrugged.
‘He is young. There is a young girl with him as well. Does this have some relevance?’
‘In this case, it does not matter.’ Fidelma shook her head with solemn amusement. ‘But had the farmer been an older man then I think it might well have made a difference. You see,’ she decided to explain to the clearly puzzled abbot, ‘I have just made ajudgment against a middle-aged farmer — one Muadnat. He might not take kindly to my company.’
Abbot Cathal still looked bemused.
‘But all must accept the judgment of law.’ He seemed unable to contemplate the concept that a judgment under the law could cause any resentful emotions.
‘Not everyone accepts it in good grace, abbot,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But now I think that it is time that Brother Eadulf and I were on our way.’
Abbot Cathal appeared reluctant to let them depart.
‘This may be the last time we see each other, Fidelma; at least for a while.’
‘Why so?’ she asked curiously.
‘Next week I shall be setting out on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. It has been my ambition for many years now. Brother Nemon will take my place as abbot here.’
‘The Holy Land?’ Fidelma sounded wistful. ‘That is a journey that one day I, too, hope to make. I wish you great joy of the journey, Cathal of Lios Mhór. May God be on every road you travel.’
She held out her hand to the abbot who took it and clasped it firmly.
‘And may He continue to inspire your judgments, Fidelma of Kildare,’ the abbot replied solemnly. He smiled at them both in turn and half raised a hand in blessing. ‘To the end of the road — peace and safety.’
Chapter Three
In the flagged courtyard of the abbey, they found the young man, Archú, with the girl who had been with him in the chapel. They were waiting impatiently, seated in the shade of the cloisters. Nearby two horses stood already saddled. Archú stood up and approached Sister Fidelma as she appeared. He still reminded her of an eager puppy awaiting his master’s pleasure.
‘I am told that you need a guide to take you to the land of Araglin, sister. I am pleased to be able to offer my service to you since you have restored my land and my honour.’
Fidelma shook her head, restraining a smile at his youthful dignity.
‘I have told you before, the law was the only arbiter in that matter. You owe no debt to me.’
She turned as the young girl now approached, eyes down cast. She was attractive, slim and fair-haired and Fidelma estimated that she was no more than sixteen years of age.
Archú introduced her with a self-conscious air.
‘This is Scoth. Now that I have my land, we are to be married. I shall ask our priest, Father Gormán, to arrange it as soon as we get home.’
The young girl blushed happily.
‘Even had the judgment gone against you, I would still have married you,’ she rebuked him gently. She turned to Fidelma. ‘That was why I followed Archú here. It would not have mattered to me which way your judgment went. Truly it would not.’
Fidelma regarded the young girl gravely.
‘But it is just as well, Scoth, that the judgment went well. Nowyou are to marry an ocáire and not a landless man.’
In turn, Fidelma introduced Brother Eadulf to them. One of the brothers had been packing food and drink for the journey into the saddle bags of the horses and now came forward leading the two mounts by their bridles. She noticed that Archú and Scoth each carried a bundle and a blackthorn staff. She realised that there were no other horses in the courtyard and it was clear that they had no mounts, not even an ass to ride.
Archú noticed her frown and correctly guessed what was passing through her mind.
‘We do not have horses, sister. There are horses on the farm in Araglin but, of course, I was not allowed to take them for the journey here. And my cousin, Muadnat,’ he hesitated and his pronunciation of the name was tinged with bitterness, ‘has already left with Agdae, his chief cowman. So we must return as we came … on foot.’
Fidelma shook her head gently.
‘No matter,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Our horses are strong mounts and you are but small extra weight. Scoth can ride behind me while you, Archú, can get up behind Brother Eadulf.’
It was mid-afternoon when they turned through the large wooden gates of the monastery and walked the horses along a path by the broad river with the mountains rising immediately to the north of them.
Archú, seated behind Eadulf, pointed across his shoulder.
‘Araglin lies up in those mountains,’ he called eagerly. ‘We will have to rest somewhere in their midst tonight but you will be in Araglin before midday tomorrow.’
‘Where were you planning to spent the night?’ asked Fidelma, as she turned her horse across the narrow wooden bridge which spanned the great river in the direction of the tall northern peaks.