been answered.
‘My companion, Sister Fidelma. . what of her?’
Brother Rhodri grimaced wryly. ‘She was very worried for you, Brother Saxon. She and I shared your nursing. This morning, however, she was summoned to go to our mother house to see Abbot Tryffin.’
‘Abbot Tryffin? Mother house?’
‘This is the peninsula known in Latin as Menevia where the abbey of Dewi Sant is situated.’
Eadulf had heard of the great abbey of Dewi Sant. He knew that those Britons who dwelt in the west of the island which they now shared with the Angles and Saxons regarded the abbey as almost as important as Iona, the Holy Island, in the northern kingdom of Dál Riada. It was accepted that two pilgrimages to the abbey was the equivalent of one pilgrimage to Rome and a pilgrim could acquire enough indulgences — pardons of temporal punishment due for sins committed — to last them for many years. Eadulf realised that he was thinking in terms of the teachings of Rome, where the Holy Father granted indulgences out of the Treasury of Merit won for the Church by Christ and the Saints. Eadulf knew well enough that the churches of the Irish and the Britons did not believe in such things as indulgences nor in absolving oneself from one’s responsibility by their acquisition.
He suddenly pulled his wandering thoughts sharply back to the present.
‘She was
‘Near? It is within walking distance, less than two kilometres. The good sister will return by this evening.’
‘And you say that we are on that peninsula of Dyfed known as Menevia?’
‘In our language, it is called Moniu,’ Brother Rhodri confirmed.
‘Why was Fidelma. . Sister Fidelma summoned there?’
Brother Rhodri raised his shoulders and let them fall expressively. ‘That is something that I cannot help you with, Brother Saxon. Now, perhaps, as you are in a better state, you might like to sip some herbal tea or some broth?’
Eadulf realised that he was feeling famished. ‘I could eat something more substantial, Brother,’ he ventured.
Brother Rhodri grinned approvingly. ‘Ah, a sure sign that you are recovering, my friend. However, it may be unwise to have more than a broth for the time being. Nor should you move. Lie there and relax for a while.’
Some hours later, Eadulf felt more himself. He had sipped a meaty broth and his headache was diminishing thanks to a poultice which Brother Rhodri had placed on his forehead. It appeared that Brother Rhodri was a trained apothecary and Eadulf, who had himself studied at the great medical centre of Tuam Brecain, had identified the poultice as being comprised of foxglove leaves which, he knew, were excellent for calming headaches. He had gradually dropped into a soporific state and then fallen into a natural sleep.
He awoke to the sound of Fidelma’s voice and came to his senses as she entered the room. The concern on her face lessened as Eadulf rose up on his bed. She came swiftly to him, both hands held out, and sat on the edge of the bed.
‘How do you feel? Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously, examining him quickly. ‘The swelling on your temple seems to be going down.’
Eadulf returned a wry smile. ‘I suppose I feel as right as anyone who has been knocked unconscious for a day.’
She gave a sigh of relief but she did not let go of his hands, making a careful visual examination of his wound. When she was satisfied, she visibly relaxed and a smile crossed her features.
‘I was worried, but the swelling is definitely diminishing, ’ she said simply. Then, becoming aware that Brother Rhodri had appeared in the doorway, she let go her grip on his hands and sat back. ‘Has Brother Rhodri explained to you where you are and what happened? ’
‘I gather the ship put into Porth Clais to escape the storm.’
‘A harbour on the coast of Dyfed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘It really was a bad storm. I insisted that you be brought ashore to this hospice as soon as we came into harbour, for there was no telling what injuries you might have sustained in your fall.’
‘I seem to have had a good nurse.’ Eadulf smiled. ‘We can return aboard the ship and continue our journey as soon as you like.’
To his surprise, Fidelma shook her head. ‘Our ship sailed on this morning’s tide. The captain was impatient to be away as soon as the storm passed and he had replaced his shredded sails.’
‘What?’ Eadulf pushed himself up stiffly into a sitting position. ‘He has marooned us in this place? We paid him to take us to the kingdom of Kent. You mean he went away and left us stranded here?’
Fidelma pouted her lips in reproof. Her eyes flicked quickly to Brother Rhodri. They had been speaking in Fidelma’s native tongue, which Eadulf spoke as fluently as his own, perhaps more fluently than Latin. Was there a warning in her eyes?
‘We are not stranded, Eadulf. The kingdom of Dyfed has good links with other lands and kingdoms. Anyway, the captain refunded some of our passage fee.’
Eadulf followed her glance towards Brother Rhodri. It seemed that Brother Rhodri knew something of the language, for he seemed to be following their exchange.
‘I only meant that we are a long way from Canterbury,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘It is vexing that the captain did not have time to wait.’
‘The wood will renew the foliage it sheds,’ Fidelma reassured him, quoting an old proverb.
Eadulf shrugged reluctantly. ‘We are not so well endowed with money that we can afford to lose any,’ he admonished. ‘We have to find a new ship and will have to pay more for the journey to Canterbury.’
Fidelma made a dismissive gesture. ‘What we have to do now,’ she corrected him with emphasis, ‘is for you to rest and regain your strength, Eadulf. Remember the saying that there is always another tide in the sea.’ She made to rise.
‘Stay awhile,’ Eadulf urged. ‘I am not sleepy.’
Fidelma glanced at Brother Rhodri, who was lighting a lamp, for the dusk had crept up while they had been talking.
‘It is time for the evening meal,’ he said. ‘Shall I bring some food to you here on a tray, Sister?’
‘Thank you, Brother. It would be most kind of you.’
The monk smiled briefly and turned to Eadulf. ‘You seem well enough to take a little more broth, Brother. I shall see to it.’
When he had gone, Eadulf grinned sheepishly at Fidelma. ‘I am sorry that I have precipitated you into this predicament.’
‘Predicament?’ She paused and shook her head. ‘It is always fascinating to see a new land, even when it is done without intention.’
Eadulf’s features dissolved into a glum expression. ‘The land of the Britons may be fascinating for you but not for me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Saxons are not exactly welcome among Britons in spite of Brother Rhodri’s Christian charity.’
‘Do Britons have a reason to dislike Saxons?’
Eadulf glanced at her sharply. Was she mocking him? She was well acquainted with the recent history of these islands.
‘You know that nothing happens without reason, Fidelma. And you know your history as well as anyone I know. You will be aware that the Britons once lived all over this land but two centuries ago the ancestors of my people came from beyond the eastern sea to conquer and colonise — the Jutes, Angles and Saxons. They began to push the Britons westward and northwards and take over their lands. I can understand the feelings of the dispossessed. My people are a warrior people who have only just accepted Christian values. I think, behind their professed acceptance of the new faith, they continue to fear Woden, the old god of war. They still believe that the true way to immortality is to die with a sword in their hand and Woden’s name on their lips. Only along that path do they think they have a chance to pass into the Hall of Heroes, where all the immortals live.’
Fidelma was puzzled at the intensity in his voice. ‘You sound as if you also believe this, Eadulf?’
Eadulf regarded her with a sour expression. ‘I was a young man when I was converted to the new faith by
