the banks. Fidelma had been duly impressed with the knowledge and skill in which the journey, first east and then south, along the broad waterway, had been conducted by Clodio and his sons. The craft was always on the move, in spite of the mighty strength of the river which occasionally ran around islands in the centre of the water, places of wild desolation. One lasting memory was of the women washing clothes along the banks, sometimes appearing in groups and sometimes as solitary figures, beating the wet clothing on rocks.
Now Fidelma sighed, but not at the prospect of exchanging the comfort of the boat for the saddle of a horse for she was a good horsewoman and had been at ease on a horse almost before she could walk.
‘Where would we find horses? Horses cost money,’ she pointed out.
‘Is there anything in this world that is free?’ Clodio replied philosophically. ‘Ah, but wandering religious expect all things to be given freely to them, in exchange for a muttered blessing. It would be an ideal life if all were so simple, my friends, but I have a wife and sons to keep.’
Fidelma frowned at the implication that he feared they might not pay for the journey.
‘Boatman,’ she said sternly, ‘did we not negotiate a fee for you to bring us from the port of Naoned to this place? Was it not a fair fee? If so, as we approach this place, now is the time for the fee to be paid.’
‘I did not mean…’ Clodio began, abashed, but Fidelma had already reached into her marsupium and counted out the coins that she thrust towards him.
‘Remember, boatman, that a wandering religious may not always be a beggar; she said stiffly.
Eadulf looked nervously at his companion and hoped that she would not boast of her relationship to the Kings of Muman.
‘
Fidelma gave him a look of understanding before turning back to the boatman.
‘We promised to pay you and, even though it makes the rest of our journey difficult, for we cannot afford horses, we will do so,’ she said quietly.
Clodio, who had not understood the Latin saying, merely nodded as his hands closed over the coins and dropped them into the leather purse at his belt.
‘Bishop Arigius, at the abbey, will take care of you,’ he told them. ‘He is a man of good reputation.’
Turning to his two sons, he ordered them to take out the oars while he cried a warning and jerked on a rope to lower the single sail of the craft. Then he moved quickly back to the tiller and, with dextrous smoothness, drew the craft alongside one of the several wooden piers that jutted into the river at this point. In a few moments they were tied up and the sons of the boatmen helped first Fidelma and Eadulf ashore.
Clodio nodded to them both. ‘Good luck on your travels, my friends,’ he said. ‘Follow that road up to the town and it will bring you to the doors of the abbey. Remember, it is the Bishop Arigius whom you wish to see.’
They said farewell to the man and his sons who now began to offload their goods. Merchants and onlookers were already moving down to the pier to examine what cargo they had brought as Fidelma and Eadulf set off up the road towards the main town. Eadulf had felt the heat of the early summer sun while he was in the boat but now on land it struck on his face and shoulders with a force that caused sweat to form on his brow.
‘I swear, Fidelma,’ began Eadulf, but his sandal struck a stone that stood prouder than the rest and caused him to trip, almost sending him headlong. He just recovered himself at the last moment with a muttered oath. ‘I swear, Fidelma, that I am sick of travelling.’
Fidelma glanced at him without humour. ‘Do you think I am not?’ she said shortly. ‘Since the birth of little Alchú, how much time have I spent with our son? Too little, that is for certain. When we returned from Tara a few months ago, I fully expected that we would be able to remain at Cashel for…well, for the foreseeable future.’
‘We could have refused this journey,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘Duty must come first,’ Fidelma replied in a heavy tone. ‘If my brother, the King, requests me to come here as aide and adviser to his bishop, Ségdae of Imleach, then this is where I must come. But you were not obliged to accompany me.’
‘My place is wherever you are,’ replied Eadulf simply.
Fidelma laid a free hand on his arm. ‘I make no demands on you, Eadulf,’ she said softly.
‘Did you not say that duty must come first?’ he replied with a raised eyebrow. ‘And what greater duty is there than the moral code of the bonds that are between us? So do not question where my duty lies. It is just that I cannot see why some council of church leaders held in Gaul…’
‘The Gauls are almost gone now,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The Franks have overrun and settled this territory and call these lands the kingdoms of Austrasia and Neustria. Two brothers rule them, I am told.’
‘Wherever we are,’ Eadulf went on, ‘I still cannot see why some council of church leaders in this remote spot has any influence on the five kingdoms of Éireann, or even on the Britons or Saxon kingdoms.’
‘Perhaps not now but someday hence the influence of the decisions made here might be felt. That is why, when Vitalian, the Bishop of Rome, called representatives of the western churches to this place, Bishop Ségdae had to attend. You know that the practices we follow in Éireann are under threat from the new ideas springing up in Rome which are alien to our laws and to our way of life.’
‘But Autun is such a long way from Cashel!’
‘Thoughts and ideas travel faster than a man,’ replied Fidelma firmly.
Eadulf sighed and shifted the weight of the bag that he carried on his shoulder. He cast an envious glance at Fidelma’s light linen robes and wished he had something more cooling than the brown woollen homespun he wore as a Brother of the Faith.
But they were moving on easier ground now among the buildings, and the gates of the abbey were within easy access. There were plenty of people about but no one paid them much interest. It was clear that Nebirnum was a busy trading town filled with strangers, and many wagons loaded with goods were moving here and there.
At the gates of the abbey they encountered a Brother who seemed more of a sentinel than a welcoming religieux.
‘
‘
‘We have come from the distant land of Hibernia. We are on our way to the Council at Autun and were told that Bishop Arigius might facilitate our journey there.’
The man pointed through the gates. ‘You may enquire for the bishop inside,’ he said carelessly, and turned to continue to gaze at the passers-by.
‘Not exactly an enthusiastic greeting for us
Fidelma did not reply. A youthful religieux was passing through the quadrangle in which they found themselves, and she hailed him.
‘Where can we find Bishop Arigius?’ she asked.
The young man stopped and frowned. ‘I am his steward. You are strangers in this place.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘We are on our way to Autun to attend the council there. We are from the land of Hibernia.’
The young man’s eyes seemed to widen slightly at the latter statement. Then he said: ‘Follow me.’
He led them to a door in a corner of the quadrangle, which gave entrance into a square tower that seemed to be opposite to what was obviously a chapel. They followed him up the dark, oak stairs to a door of similar hue. Here the young steward turned to them and asked them to wait. He knocked upon the door and, without pausing for an answer, opened it and passed inside, closing it behind him. They could hear the mumble of voices and then the door re-opened and the young man beckoned them inside.
Bishop Arigius was a tall thin man with sharp features, piercing dark eyes and thin red lips. His hair was sparse and silver grey. He had risen from a chair and crossed the room to greet them, a smile of welcome revealing yellowing teeth.
