Our Lady of Darkness

expression in his eyes.

‘We have clashed in the past, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he observed softly.

‘That we have,’ she agreed.

‘The guilt or innocence of your Saxon friend aside, I want you to know that I care about the Church in this kingdom and do not want to see it damaged in any way. Sometimes the Abbess Fainder can be overly enthusiastic in the cause of the Rule of the Penitentials; she is a zealot, if you like. I say this in spite of the fact that she is a distant cousin of mine.’

His statement caused Fidelma to glance up in curiosity.

‘Abbess Fainder is your cousin?’

‘Of course, that is why she is qualified to be in charge of the abbey. Anyway, she sees things in simple terms of right and wrong; of white and black, without any subtle shades of grey. You and I both know there is more in life than such extremes.’

Fidelma frowned at him.

‘I am not sure that I know what you mean exactly, Father Abbot. If I recall correctly, you were never a supporter of Rome’s rules.’

The thin-faced abbot sighed momentarily and inclined his head.

‘A man can be won to an argument,’ he admitted. ‘I have spent many years in contemplation of the arguments. I followed the debate at Whitby very carefully. I believe that Christ gave the keys of heaven to Peter andtold him to build his Church and that Peter built that Church in Rome where he suffered martyrdom. I now make no pretence of that. What I am saying is that people may choose different paths to their objective. Sometimes people have to be won by argument and not by order. I was won by years of meditating on the arguments. Others should follow the same path and not be ordered to change. Alas, I am a lone voice in these councils.’

He left the inn without another word.

Coba stood looking confused for a moment and then he glanced at Fidelma.

‘I must return to my fortress. I have organised a search for the Saxon. I am sorry about your friend, Sister. In trying to help, I have only made matters worse. There is the old saying that friends should keep clear of an unfortunate man. We may be well advised to heed that saying. I am truly sorry that things have turned out this way.’

After he had left, Fidelma heard a gentle cough behind her.

Dego and Enda had come down the stairs.

‘Did you hear all that?’ she asked.

‘Not all,’ confessed Dego, ‘but enough to know that the elderly man, Coba, gave Brother Eadulf sanctuary and now he has fled from that sanctuary. That is not good.’

‘No, it is not,’ agreed Fidelma solemnly.

‘What about Gabrán?’ demanded Enda. ‘What was said about him?’

Fidelma quickly repeated what she had been told about the river-boat man.

They breakfasted for the most part in silence. There was no one else in the inn or at least no one who came to breakfast while they were there.

Chapter Fourteen

It was midday and Eadulf began to feel a gnawing pang of hunger. It was still very cold but the frost had dispersed, and the morning sunshine spread a pleasant warmth in the unshaded areas. The warmth was deceptive however because the moment a cloud crossed the face of the sun, or a tall tree blocked its rays, the cold became sharp again. Eadulf eased the cloak around his shoulders and thanked God that he had had the sense to remove it from his assailant.

He had followed the banks of the broad river north through a valley for about a kilometre or so, away from Cam Eolaing, until the river began to narrow. The hills rose steeply on all sides, black, brooding peaks in spite of the pale sun. A little further on he came to a curious intersection of waters. The river was fed on either side, though not exactly at the same point, by two gushing smaller rivulets; one flowed from the south-east and the other from the west, tumbling down from the surrounding hills through smaller valleys.

Eadulf looked cautiously around before deciding to rest a moment, perching himself on a fallen tree. The log was bathed in the bright rays of the sun.

‘It is time for decisions,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Which way to go?’

If he crossed the main river and headed through the easterly valley, he presumed that he would eventually strike the sea. It could not be more than ten kilometres away. At the coast he could seek safety on a ship sailing for home. It was very tempting to head that way, to find a ship and leave Laigin — but Fidelma was uppermost in his thoughts.

Fidelma had hurried back from her pilgrimage to the Tomb of St James when she had heard of his troubles, and she had come to defend him. He could not leave her now; leave without seeing her, leave and let her think that he did not … He frowned. Think that he did not — what? He felt confused at the complexity of his own thoughts. Then he made up his mind. Fidelma was still in Fearna. He had no choice: he must return and find her.

‘Ut fata trahunt!’ he muttered, standing up. The Latin literally meant‘as the fates drag’, an expression that recognised that he had limited control over his destiny. It was the only way that he could explain the decision that he felt had already been made for him.

He turned and began to walk along the bank of the rivulet, facing the flow of its gushing waters and moving up towards the hills. A few kilometres in the distance, the tall peaks began to rise more steeply in a line, their rounded tops stretching like a barrier before him. He had no plan; he did not know how he would contact Fidelma once he returned to Fearna. Indeed, having heard of his removal from the abbey, Fidelma might have already left town. The thought niggled at him. Yet he could not leave without making the attempt to contact her. He left it to the mercy of destiny.

Dego and Enda exchanged an anxious glance.

Since finishing her breakfast, Fidelma had fallen into a silent meditation. The two young warriors became impatient.

‘What now, lady?’ Dego finally ventured, in a loud voice. ‘What should we do?’

Fidelma stirred after a moment. She looked blankly at Dego before registering his question in her mind. Then she smiled wryly at her companions.

‘I am sorry,’ she said contritely. ‘I have been turning over the facts in my mind and I seem to be getting no nearer to discovering a thread which links the events, let alone finding a motive as to why these people have been killed.’

‘Is knowing the motive so important?’ asked Dego.

‘Know the motive and you usually know the culprit,’ affirmed Fidelma.

‘Did we not agree the other night that Gabrán appeared to be the thread?’ Enda reminded her.

‘It was precisely his role in this mystery that I have been attempting to analyse.’

‘Why don’t we seek Gabrán out and ask him?’ returned Enda.

Fidelma chuckled softly at his directness.

‘While I am wasting my time in trying to put those pieces into some order, you come straight to the point. You have reminded me that I am ignoring my own rule; that of not making assumptions before gathering the facts.’

Dego and Enda rose together eagerly.

‘Then let us find this boatman, for the sooner he is found, lady, the sooner you will have your facts,’ Dego said.

Smoke was rising from a small copse a little distance ahead of Eadulf: it must be smoke from someone’s