Gélgeis, the abbot’s wife?’
He shook his head. ‘Not so far as I remember. I might have seen her from afar. I would not have known her to see, face to face. I was told once that she was pretty, with fair hair and features.’
‘Did you ever hear what manner of woman she was?’
‘What manner …?’ He paused and then grimaced dismissively. ‘She was married to Cild. Isn’t that enough? You are known by the company you keep and that goes for the partner you marry.’
‘You are a man of hard judgment, Mul,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘Sometimes it is only after marriage that you get to know a person.’
‘Did you ever hear a rumour that Cild murdered his wife?’ asked Fidelma.
Mul’s eyes widened a little and then he shook his head.
‘I only heard that she had wandered into Hob’s Mire. Many animals and several people have strayed into that bog and never returned. Perhaps her fate was a blessing for her.’
‘You said that you knew Brother Botulf?’ Fidelma pressed, ignoring his comment.
‘I did.’
‘Did you ever speak to him about Cild?’
‘After he was sent back to the abbey in disgrace, I hardlyever saw him. He was not allowed to go far from the abbey walls.’
‘What was this disgrace?’ asked Eadulf.
‘He supported Aldhere against the King.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I don’t know. Aldhere was of the same poisonous root as his brother. I heard that he sacrificed the King’s cousin during a battle when the Mercians invaded. Through his cowardice, King Ealdwulf’s cousin died. Botulf defended Aldhere for which stand the King ordered that he should return to Aldred’s Abbey, where he had been one of the brethren in the early days, and remain there, not leaving on pain of death.’
‘You imply that Aldhere was guilty. Does that mean that you thought Botulf was a liar?’ demanded Eadulf sullenly.
‘I would not know his reasons for defending Aldhere. Botulf was a good man, so far as I knew. Perhaps he was simply misguided. But I never had time to speak to him about the matter.’
‘Then how do you know that Aldhere is guilty?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Deeds not words!’ snapped Mul.
‘Explain that,’ Fidelma invited.
‘Simple enough. Ask anyone. Aldhere and his men are a band of robbers. They steal from everyone. They have also terrified and burnt the homes of many innocent people. Are these the actions of a good man who was not guilty of the accusation made against him?’
Fidelma sat back and sighed.
‘Well, it might be the actions of a man driven to find a means of survival. But burning the homes of the innocent is certainly not in keeping with the character of a man of principle.’
‘I say, a curse on both of them,’ Mul growled. ‘Religious brother or warrior brother; white dog, black dog, both are dogs.’
‘You may well be right. It does not help us get closer to the truth,’ Eadulf said in exasperation.
Mul turned to him with curiosity.
‘What truth are you seeking,
‘The truth of who killed my friend Botulf.’
Mul sat back with a look of astonishment.
‘You did not tell me that Botulf was dead!’
Of course, Eadulf realised that Botulf had only been killed on the day Mul had dropped them at the abbey.
‘I’m sorry. He was bludgeoned to death in the abbey.’
‘I suppose the abbot was responsible,’ Mul muttered bitterly. ‘I felt that it was like putting a rabbit in with a run of ferrets … I mean, putting Botulf in Cild’s abbey when Botulf had defended his brother. Cild would obviously resent that.’
‘There is a logic in what you say,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Do you know anything of the Irish religious in this area?’
Mul shook his head.
‘I know that there are some who are in hiding. They refuse to accept the decisions made at Whitby and obey Canterbury. Rules! Christian rules!’ He made a gesture like spitting. ‘Who cares? In this land we will continue to call the vernal equinox by the name of the goddess Eostre; others may celebrate it as Pascha, the resurrection of the new god, Christ, or even as Pésah, the Jewish Passover feast … but it is still the vernal equinox.’
He saw Fidelma studying him in surprise and smiled disarmingly.
‘Just because I am a farmer, you need not think that I have no knowledge. I have been to the coastal ports and spoken with Phoenician traders. I know all about Pésah and the like. All farmers know and name the seasons — seasons are seasons however you want to name them.’
‘Do you know of a young woman of Éireann with red-gold hair who lives near the abbey?’ interrupted Eadulf.
Mul was shaking his head when he suddenly smiled.
‘Do you mean young Lioba? She is no woman of Éireann.’
Eadulf tried to recall if he had heard the name before. He thought he had but could not be sure.
‘That’s a Saxon name,’ Fidelma pointed out, glancing at Eadulf.
‘True enough,’ agreed Mul. ‘Her father was a farmer in the hills beyond the abbey. He is dead now. He died in the Yellow Plague. Her mother also died a year or so ago. But her mother had been a slave taken from a kingdom called Laigin. That’s who you mean. Lioba.’
Laigin was one of the five kingdoms of Éireann, as well they knew.
Mul suddenly chuckled lewdly.
Eadulf frowned slightly. ‘What does your humour imply, Mul?’
‘That for all the piety at the abbey, Lioba seeks her pleasures there.’
‘I am told that this Lioba bears a resemblance to Gélgeis,’ hazarded Eadulf, pursuing a sudden train of thought.
Mul rubbed his chin. ‘I would not know. Lioba must have been younger than the abbot’s wife.’
‘Let us return to the Irish religious in hiding. What do you know about them?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Little enough. As Christians, I do not care about them. I think it is said that they are down Tunstall way. They never bother me nor I them.’
He reached for more cider and grimaced with a bitter expression before sipping it.
‘I want little to do with you Christians though I will go this far: all gods are the same when it comes to seeking their help. They are all united in ignoring your pleas and cries for help. I know that. There are three graves on the hill above the farmstead that bear me witness.’
‘Christ was not responsible for the murder of your wife and children,’ admonished Eadulf.
‘No? If this Christ were an omnipotent deity he could have done something. Don’t you teach that he is all powerful, all loving and ordains everything that happens? No,
Fidelma looked at Eadulf and shook her head quickly. It was not wise to pursue the argument further.
‘Have you heard of any trouble between the abbey and those who adhere to the Rule of Colmcille … the blessed one whom you call Columba?’ she asked.
‘Trouble? Cild had two of them executed, I know that. The others he had driven out into the marshes. Perhaps they have returned to your land? Perhaps it is they who are hiding in Tunstall? There are so many deaths here, Sister, that I am surprised you bother to seek the reasons for one or two. Theanswer to all of them lies between two people — Cild and Aldhere.’
‘It seems that there is no longer any law here,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘I would not believe it. I was brought up to believe that no one would dare to disobey the Law of the Wuffingas and a
