fire. Hunger, cold and weariness made Eadulf’s decision for him. He moved on through the small wood and found a large clearing beyond, in which was situated a cabin by a tiny stream. It was a sturdy, stone-built affair; low- roofed and thatched. He paused for he realised that there was something curious about the clearing. It was flat and seemed to have been raked free of any obstacles except, at various points surrounding the cabin, and at unequal distances from it, heavy posts had been driven into the ground. It was as if they formed a pattern. On the top of each post were notches that had been chipped into them.
Eadulf had been long enough in the five kingdoms of Éireann to realised that the notches were Ogham, the ancient writing named after the old god of literacy and learning, Ogma. Fidelma could read the old script easily but he had never mastered it, for it represented words that were archaic and obscure. He wondered what these posts symbolised. He had, at first, thought he was coming to a woodsman’s cabin but he had never seen one with such a curious structure of posts around it.
He took a few steps forward, noting the dead and dying autumnal leaves which seemed to be scattered in profusion at a certain distance from the cabin and then, curiously, everything was swept clear of leaves all around the cabin within this border. Eadulf was perplexed and took another step forward, feeling the crunch of leaves underfoot.
‘Who is it?’ demanded a strong masculine voice, and a man appeared in the door of the cabin.
Eadulf saw that he was of medium height with long straw-coloured hair. His face was in the shade of the doorway but Eadulf saw that he was a well-muscled man with a warrior’s build and, indeed, the impression seemed to be confirmed by the balance of his body, the way he stood poised as if ready to meet any threat.
‘Someone who is cold and hungry,’ answered Eadulf lightly, taking a step forward.
‘Stay still!’ snapped the man in the doorway. ‘Keep on the leaves.’ Eadulf frowned at the request. ‘I am no threat to you,’ he offered, wondering whether the man was deranged in some way.
‘You are a stranger — a Saxon, by your accent. Are you alone?’
‘As you can see,’ replied Eadulf in growing puzzlement.
‘
Eadulf became irritated. ‘Don’t you trust the evidence of your own eyes?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘Of course I am alone.’
The man in the doorway inclined his head a fraction and in that movement the shadow left his face. It had been a handsome face but there was an old burn mark across his brow and eyes, searing the flesh.
‘Why, you are blind!’ Eadulf ejaculated in surprise.
The man started back, nervously.
Eadulf held up a hand, palm outwards in a gesture of peace, and then, realising the futility of the gesture, let it fall.
‘Have no fear. I am alone. I am Brother …’ he hesitated. Perhaps his name might have travelled through this kingdom even to the blind. ‘I am a Saxon Brother of the Faith.’
The man tilted his head to one side.
‘You seem unwilling to give me your name. Why is that?’ he asked sharply.
Eadulf glanced round. The place seemed isolated enough and surely this blind man could do him no harm.
‘My name is Brother Eadulf,’ he said.
‘And you are alone?’
‘I am.’
‘What are you doing alone in this area? It is bleak and isolated. Why would a Saxon Brother be travelling through these hills?’
‘It is a long story,’ replied Eadulf.
‘I have plenty of time,’ returned the other grimly.
‘But I am weary and, moreover, cold and hungry.’
The man hesitated as if making a decision.
‘My name is Dalbach. This is my cabin. You are welcome to a bowl of broth. It is fresh made from badger meat and I have bread and mead to complement it.’
‘Badger meat? Now that is good fare, indeed,’ observed Eadulf, knowing that many of the people of Éireann considered it a choice dish. In the ancient tale, didn’t Moiling the Swift, as a sign of esteem, promise to procure a dish of badger meat for the great warrior Fionn Mac Cumhail?
‘Over your meal you may tell me something of your story, Brother Eadulf. Walk forward now, directly to me.’
Eadulf walked towards him and Dalbach held out his hand in greeting.Eadulf took it. It was a firm grasp. Still gripping his hand, the blind man raised his other to lightly touch Eadulf’s face and trace his features. Eadulf was not startled by this for he remembered the case of Móen, the blind, deaf mute of Araglin whose method of ‘seeing’ was by touch. He stood patiently until the blind man was satisfied as to his investigation.
‘You are used to the inquisitiveness of the blind, Brother Saxon,’ he finally observed, dropping his hand.
‘I know that you but wish to “see” my features,’ agreed Eadulf.
The man smiled. It was the first time he had done so.
‘You can tell much from a person’s face. I trust you, Brother Saxon. You have sympathetic features.’
‘That is a nice way of describing a lack of handsomeness,’ grinned Eadulf.
‘Does that trouble you? That you consider yourself not blessed with good looks?’
Eadulf realised that the faculties of the man were sharp and missed nothing.
‘We are all a little vain, even the ugliest of us.’
‘
‘Ecclesiastes,’ acknowledged Eadulf. ‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.’
‘This is my house. Come in.’
With that, the man turned and went into the cabin. Eadulf was impressed by the tidiness of it. Dalbach moved with unerring accuracy around the obstacles. Eadulf realised that the items of furniture must have been placed so that he could memorise their position.
‘Place your cloak on the back of the chair and sit down, there at the table,’ instructed Dalbach, while he went straight to a cauldron hanging over a glowing fire. Eadulf took off his sheepskin cloak. He watched as Dalbach, with dexterity, picked up a bowl from a shelf and ladled the broth into it. He moved directly back to the table and put down the bowl, almost in front of Eadulf.
‘You will forgive any inaccuracy?’ he smiled. ‘Bring the bowl to you and pick up a spoon that should lie on the table. There is bread there, too.’
Indeed there was and Eadulf did not even wait to mutter a
‘You were not telling a lie then, Saxon,’ Dalbach observed when he returned with his own bowl of broth. He held his head in a listening position.
‘A lie?’ mumbled Eadulf, between mouthfuls.
‘You are, indeed, very hungry.’
‘Thanks to your kind hospitality, friend Dalbach, the hunger is diminishing and I am also feeling warm again. It is a cold day out there. The Lord must have guided my footsteps to your cabin. Surely, though, this is an isolated spot for a … for a …’
‘For a blind man, Brother Eadulf? Do not be nervous of the term.’
‘What made you pick this lonely spot to live?’
Dalbach’s mouth twisted cynically. The expression did not suit him.
‘It chose me rather than I chose it.’
‘I do not understand. I would have thought life in a town or village would be more easy with other people close by in case you needed assistance.’
‘I am forbidden to live in them.’
‘Forbidden?’
Eadulf looked at his host nervously. He knew that among his own people lepers were often forbidden to live in the towns and villages. Yet Dalbach did not appear to be suffering from leprosy.
‘I am an exile,’ explained Dalbach. ‘Blinded and sent out from my people to fend for myself.’
