some time at his birthplace.
She tried to suppress the apprehensive feeling that came over her. She hoped that he would not want to spend any great length of time at that place … Seaxmund’s Ham. She felt guilty for the selfish thought. Why should she expect him to want to return to her own country? But she did miss her homeland. She had travelled enough. She wanted to settle down.
She realised that Eadulf was smiling at her across the table.
‘No regrets?’ he asked.
She felt the hot blood in her cheeks.
‘Regrets?’ she parried, knowing full well what he meant.
‘That you came with me to my country?’
‘I have no regrets at being in your company,’ Fidelma replied, choosing her words carefully.
Eadulf examined her keenly. He was still smiling but she saw the shadow cross his eyes. Before he could say anything more, she suddenly reached forward and grasped his hand.
‘Let us live for the moment, Eadulf.’ Her voice was earnest. ‘We have agreed to follow the ancient custom of my people — to be with one another for a year and a day. I have agreed to be your ben
Eadulf understood that the people of the five kingdoms of Éireann had a very complicated law system and there were several definitions of what constituted a proper marriage. As Fidelma had explained to him, there were nine distinct types of union in Irish law. The term which Fidelma had used,
The decision had been made by Fidelma not because they were members of the religious. It would not have entered her mind that this was a bar to marriage. No religious, neither those who followed the way of Colmcille, nor those who followed the Rule of Rome or any of the other Churches of Christ, regardedcelibacy as necessary to the religious calling. However, there was a growing minority who had begun to denounce married clergy and proclaim celibacy as the true path of those who were committed to the new faith. Fidelma, in fact, was more concerned that a marriage with Eadulf would be deemed a marriage of unequals … if her brother, Colgú, King of Muman, even gave his approval for it. Such a marriage, while recognised in law, meant that Eadulf, as a stranger without land in Muman and not of the same princely family rank as Fidelma, would not have equal property rights with his wife. Knowing Eadulf’s character, Fidelma thought it would not be a good prescription for happiness if Eadulf felt less than her equal.
There were other forms of marriage, of course. A man could legally cohabit with a woman at her home with the permission of her family, or she could go away openly with him without the consent of her family and still have rights under the law. The problem was that, having reached the stage of seriously considering marriage to Eadulf, Fidelma was in a quandary about what path to proceed along. Moreover, she had assumed that any future together would be a future in Cashel. The last few weeks with Eadulf in the kingdoms of the Angles and the Saxons had begun to raise doubts in her mind.
She found her thoughts interrupted as Eadulf was speaking again.
‘Did I say that I was not satisfied, Fidelma?’ Eadulf’s smile was a little forced now as he saw the changing expression on her face.
The door opened abruptly with a crash and for a moment it appeared that some strange figure from the netherworld stood framed against the swirling cloud of snow that pushed into the inn. An ice-cold breath of air threatened to blow out the lanterns that lit the main room of the inn. The figure, looking like some gigantic, shaggy bear, turned and had to lean against the door to push it shut against the pressure of the blustery wind. The figure turned again and shook itself, causing cascades of snow to fall from the thick furs which encased the body from head to foot. Then one arm appeared through the furs and began unwrapping part of the head covering. A bearded face emerged from under the wrappings.
‘Mead, Cynric! Mead, for the love of the mother of Balder!’
The figure stamped forward into the inn, showering snow about him from his fur wrappings. He dropped his outer garment unceremoniously on the floor. He wore a leather jerkin over a muscular torso and strips of sacking were wrapped around his giant calves and tied with leather thongs.
‘Mul!’ exclaimed Cynric, the innkeeper, in surprised recognition as he came forward to greet the newcomer. ‘What are you doing abroad and in such inclement weather?’
The man addressed as Mul was of middle age, broad-shouldered, with flaxen hair and a skin that seemed tanned by the elements. He had the build of a farmer or a smith. His thick-set shoulders and arms seemed to bulge through his leather jerkin. He had a coarse, ruddy face with a bushy beard. His features made it seem that he had been beaten about the face and never recovered. His lips were constantly parted and showed gaps in his yellowing teeth. He had piercing bright eyes set close to his beak-like nose, which gave him a permanent look of disapproval.
‘I am on my way home,’ the newcomer grunted. ‘Where should a man be on this night of all nights?’ He suddenly caught sight of Fidelma and Eadulf, seated across the room, and inclined his head in greeting.
‘May the spear of Frig and the Desir be ready to smite your enemies!’ he thundered in the ancient fashion.
‘
The man, whom the innkeeper had called Mul, grabbed the tankard of mead from Cynric’s hand and sprawled in a chair near the fire, downing half of it in one great gulp. Then he uttered a loud belch of satisfaction.
Fidelma looked a little shocked but said nothing.
‘God look down on us,’ muttered Eadulf, his face showing his disapproval of the man’s lack of manners.
‘Christians, eh?’ frowned the newcomer, regarding them with curiosity. ‘Well, I am an old dog and cannot be taught new tricks. The gods who protected my father are good enough to protect me. May all and any of the gods protect all travellers this night.’
The innkeeper placed another tankard of mead ready for the newcomer.
‘Shall I prepare a bed for you, Mul?’
The big man shook his head almost violently. The gesture reminded them of a big shaggy dog, shaking itself. His hair and beard seemed to merge into one tangled mane.
‘Woden’s hammer, no!’
‘But your farm is six or more miles from here!’ exclaimed the innkeeper. ‘You’ll not make it in this storm.’
‘I’ll make it,’ the burly farmer said with grim confidence. ‘I would not let a little blow like this prevent me from going home. Anyway, tonight is the Mothernight and I intend to raise a tankard of mead to Frig and the Desir at the appointed hour. I shall be back on my farm before midnight, friend Cynric. Apart from anything else, I have animals to see to. If I am not there to tend to them, then they go without. I have been away all day to sell some cheese at the market at Butta’s Leah.’
Eadulf saw the perplexity on Fidelma’s face and explained in a whisper: ‘Tonight is the Winter Solstice, the start of the old pagan feast of Yule which lasts for twelve days. We celebrate with the feast of the goddess Frig and the Desir, the Fore-Mothers of the race. The main feast is dedicated to Woden, the Yule One.’
Fidelma was just as perplexed as before.
‘It is a time when we are in darkness and must offer gifts to the gods and goddesses to ensure the rebirth of the sun.’
He did not notice Fidelma’s disapproving look, for he had begun to regard the newcomer with some interest.
‘Might I ask, my friend, in what direction is your farm? I heard the innkeeper call you Mul. There was a Mul who used to farm Frig’s Tun before I left on my travels. Are you he?’
The burly farmer examined Eadulf keenly. A frown crossed his brows.
‘Who are you, Christian?’ he demanded.
