carrying it off. There was a splashing as the mother seal came anxiously from the waves, crying to the pup to join her. Eadulf saw the russet and brown bird, which he recognised as a kestrel, climbing and turning for a second dive. The pup, encouraged by the mother, had made it into the water. Eadulf was sharply reminded that life was never idyllic.
He turned, walking along the pathway until he found a tree stump and sat down. The sun, though weak compared to summer sunshine, was warm and pleasant. One or two people passed by and greeted him in their own language and he replied, regaining his meagre knowledge of it. During his time studying at Tuam Brecain, two of the brethren there had come from the kingdom of Powys and he had spent time trying to learn their language. He was keenly aware of the antagonism that existed between the Britons and his own people. In moments of calm reflection, Eadulf could clearly understand the roots of the enmity between them.
In his father’s day, the British kingdom of Elmet had been destroyed when Ceretic, its king, had been slain and the population driven westward by a Saxon war chieftain named Snot who had built his township or
Eadulf had heard the stories from the old ones of how, just over sixty years before, the Roman cleric Augustine, with forty monks from that city, had settled in the kingdom of Kent to help in the Christianising of it. He found only Irish missionaries, mainly in the north, trying to bring the Faith to the pagan Saxons, teaching them how to read and write. At Canterbury he found a church dedicated to St Martin of Tours, originally built by the Britons before the Jutes drove them out. The Frankish Christian wife of the king of Kent and her chaplain were worshipping there. Knowing that the Britons had been Christian from the time of the Roman occupation, Augustine demanded a meeting with their bishops on the borders between their remaining territories and the Saxons.
By all the accounts which Eadulf had heard, Augustine was a Roman who was still full of the old Roman arrogance. He viewed the Britons in the same manner as had the generals of the Roman legions in the old days of the empire. To him they were worthless barbarians. He had demanded of Deniol, the bishop of Bangor, why the clergy of the Britons had failed in their duty to the Faith by not bothering to convert the Saxons. Deniol had sarcastically pointed out that it was hard to preach love and forgiveness to a man when he was in the process of slaughtering one’s wife and children. Augustine had gone further in his arrogance and blustered that if the Britons did not accept his authority and that of Rome, then he would bless the Saxon arms and they would suffer vengeance. It was a fact that some years later, Bishop Deniol was one of the thousand clerics who died during the wholesale slaughter of monks at Bangor.
Eadulf stirred uncomfortably from his reflections as a tall Briton, clad in the robes of a religious, walked by and greeted him with a smile and some unintelligible word. Eadulf automatically returned the smile and gave such greeting as he could remember in the language. Eadulf had no wish to be an enemy to anyone, but what was the proverb of his people which came to mind? There is no safety in trying to make a friend of one’s enemy. Surely that could not be right? There were the teachings of the Faith to take account of. What was it that the Blessed James had written? ‘What causes conflicts and quarrels among you? Do they not spring from the aggressiveness of your bodily desires? You want something which you cannot have, and so you are bent on murder; you are envious, and cannot attain your ambition, and so you quarrel and fight.’ Was that the main reason behind the last two centuries of war and bloodshed since the Saxons had landed in Britain? He shuddered. What was it that Christ had said? ‘I give you a new commandment; love one another.’ Well, so far as the decision rested with him, that is what he was prepared to do. However, it did not calm his mind; calm his fears of being in a strange land surrounded by a people whom he mistrusted.
Some hours later, when Fidelma came to find him and ask him if he thought himself fit to accompany her on the walk to the abbey of Dewi Sant, he found that the few hours in the fresh air had renewed his vigour. He answered in the affirmative. The giddiness had vanished and apart from a tenderness around the bruising on his forehead, which was still painful to touch, he felt revived.
The great abbey dedicated to Dewi Sant lay not more than a kilometre and a half to the north-east of the small port. They left Porth Clais walking at an easy pace, maintaining a steady gait, along the bracken-covered banks of the river. According to Fidelma, who had traversed the path the day before, it was called the Alun. Along this track came cargoes of gold, mined in Ireland, landed by ship at the port. The gold was taken to the abbey to be constructed by the goldsmiths there into sacred objects for veneration. Further upriver, the track ran into moorland, but Fidelma was able to pick her way through the boggy ground with confident ease. The day was still generally bright and, although the wind was rising, not too chill for the time of year. The journey was an easy one.
In no time at all the great abbey complex came in sight. Eadulf had to admit that it was an impressive collection of buildings, equal to any he had seen anywhere except in Rome. The buildings were a combination of grey granite and local woods.
They were greeted at the gates by one of the brethren, who seemed to have been expecting their arrival for he led them, without delay, directly to the chambers of Abbot Tryffin himself.
The abbot rose from his chair and came forward to greet them warmly in Fidelma’s native tongue. He obviously spoke the language as fluently as Brother Rhodri did. His tonsure was in the fashion of St John, the manner adopted by the churches of the Britons as well as those of Éireann. The head was shaved from the front to a line running from ear to ear, which some said was but a continuation of the tonsure adopted by the Druids, the wise men and sages of old. In his late forties, he was gaunt of face, thin-lipped and with a large nose, crisscrossed by tiny red veins, like a spider’s web. He smiled readily and there seemed a genuine warmth in the greeting. Yet his dark eyes held an anxious expression.
They were seated before a fire and served with mulled wine which Eadulf found welcome and comforting.
‘Are you in good health now, Brother Eadulf?’ the abbot asked as he settled in his chair. ‘Are you none the worse for your accident on board ship?’
‘None the worse,’ affirmed Eadulf solemnly.
‘And I suppose, as you informed me yesterday, Sister, that you are still both anxious to continue your journey to Canterbury? Is that so?’
‘We are,’ replied Fidelma. ‘As soon as we can find a ship sailing there, of course.’
The abbot nodded absently, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair without apparently being aware of his action. It was obvious that some matter of importance was distracting him and he was having difficulty in articulating it.
‘However. .’ he began.
‘However,’ interposed Fidelma, ‘there is some problem which you require our help with.’
The abbot glanced at her in surprise. His eyes quickly narrowed. ‘How did you know? Has someone told you?’
‘Your concern is quite obvious,’ replied Fidelma.
Abbot Tryffin gave the answer some thought, relaxed and shrugged. ‘I suppose it is. It is true that we are confronted by a mystery which needs the advice of such an expert as yourself to explain it.’
Irritated, Eadulf looked up from contemplating the goblet of mulled wine.
‘Before I say more about this matter, may I ask you a question, Sister?’ asked the abbot.
Fidelma glanced towards Eadulf and replied with solemn humour: ‘Not every question deserves an answer.’
The abbot shifted uncomfortably. ‘That is truly said, Sister. I will ask, anyway. If I were to show you a mystery which intrigued you, would you remain a few days in this kingdom seeking an explanation of it?’
Fidelma indicated Eadulf, making it clear that the answer lay with him. ‘I am here merely accompanying the emissary of Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury. Your question is best put to him.’
Eadulf set down his wine, considering the matter. It was true that he had delayed in Muman for nearly a year before finally deciding to return to Canterbury. What difference would a delay of a few more days in the kingdom of Dyfed make on this return journey? It would probably take a few days before they could find a ship anyway. But what mystery was there to so distract the abbot that he would invite strangers to solve it, and a Saxon at that? Eadulf was still acutely mindful that he was in the land of the Britons. He became aware of the
