Finguine, the tánaiste, had been up since dawn with bands of enthusiastic helpers who would be erecting the canvas pavilions in which those who could not be accommodated in the fortress or the town’s inn and hostel would stay. King Colgú had proclaimed three days of festivities and many people were already pouring into Cashel for the marriage rituals, which would start the next morning. Finguine had ridden through the area, trying to choose high ground that had not been so muddied by the torrent of rain that had fallen on the previous day. He directed his men to mark a spot here and there as it caught his approving eye.
Fidelma and Eadulf had also risen early, spent some time with Alchú, and then breakfasted before going down to the great hall to greet the arriving guests. There were the Eóghanacht princes — Congal of Locha Léin, Per Dá Lethe of Raithlin, and many others whose names simply passed above Eadulf’s head; there was even Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, who had come with his prince, Donennach, the new chief of the former blood enemies of Cashel.
As he moved through the throng of distinguished visitors, Eadulf realised, perhaps for the first time, that he was essentially a shy man. Yet here he was, the centre of attention and subject of scrutiny by what he felt to be the entire population of the five kingdoms of Éireann. For the first time, he wanted to escape from it all. He was but an hereditary gerefa, a magistrate of his own South Folk, the East Angles, who had only turned his back on the gods and goddesses of his people in his teen years. Since the fateful meeting at the great Council of Witebia he had come to realise that his life was inseparably linked with Fidelma of Cashel. However, it had taken some years for them to decide on a trial marriage. Under Irish law they had bound themselves together for a year and a day during which Fidelma had become his ben charrthach, the ‘loved woman’. Eadulf had been happy to be her fer comtha with rights as husband for that period. During that time their son little Alchú, ‘gentle hound’, had been born. Now the trial period was over, and either of them could move on without recrimination or compensation. But they had decided to confirm their marriage vows.
Eadulf had thought it would be as simple and as unremarkable as it had been when exchanging the vows at the trial marriage. But this was becoming an uneasy experience for him. He had not fully taken into account that Fidelma was a princess of the Eóghanacht, the ruling house of Muman, whose brother Colgú was hailed by the senachaí, the hereditary genealogists, as the eightieth direct generation from Gaedheal Glas, eponymous father of the Gaels, and the fifty-ninth generation since Eibhear Fionn son of Golamh called Míldih, who had brought the children of the Gael to Éireann. Eadulf had heard the genealogies, the forsundud as the bards called them, sung a thousand times. But he had not realised that this official marriage of Fidelma would draw such crowds of kings and nobles and onlookers to Cashel. He felt unsettled. With a feeling of guilt, he made an excuse about going to the chapel for a morning prayer, and left the great hall.
Sitting in the quiet solitude of the chapel, Eadulf was startled to realise that he wanted no part of life in a palace. He frowned as he thought about it. He felt that he wanted to leave Cashel and make his way to some more peaceful spot, away from the crowds, away from the dignitaries and nobles, away from the hustle and bustle. A place of solitude. A place like the glen of Eatharlaí. Brother Berrihert had the right idea. Solitude and peace in a wooded valley.
He suddenly felt pangs of guilt again.
Was he being selfish? Of course, there was no question that he wanted to share his life with Fidelma and little Alchú. He caught himself again. Share his life? That was looking at things from a one-sided viewpoint. Should he not also be thinking of sharing Fidelma’s life, and wasn’t that life part of Cashel and all it stood for? He shook his head in perplexity as he tried to reason things out. Was he simply apprehensive of this large festival? As soon as it was over, as soon as the marriage contracts were agreed, surely life would return to its normal ebb and flow.
When had there been a normal ebb and flow to his life? Ever since he had known Fidelma there had been one adventure after another, one mysterious killing after another to be investigated. He found himself chuckling aloud.
‘You seem amused by something, my friend?’
The hollow voice came from behind him, and Eadulf turned to find the bright blue eyes of Brother Conchobhar regarding him quizzically.
‘Amused?’ Eadulf repeated.
‘You were laughing to yourself.’
Eadulf grimaced.
‘At myself,’ he corrected with a sigh.
Brother Conchobhar smiled knowingly. ‘Yet you do not find yourself an object of humour. There was a bitter quality in your laughter.’
‘I shall not deny it.’
‘You worry about tomorrow. We have an old saying — marry a woman out of the glen and you marry the whole glen.’
Eadulf was astonished.
‘How did you know that I was thinking of that?’
Brother Conchobhar grimaced. ‘It is my nature to know these things. It is difficult for you, Brother Saxon, for you are a stranger in this land. But take comfort, for many who are not would find the path that you are taking difficult. Did you think it would be easy to marry an Eóghanacht of Cashel?’
‘I did not think of it. Certainly, I did not know what it meant.’
Brother Conchobhar inclined his head with a sad smile. ‘Yet you must have learnt something from your trial marriage.’
‘I suppose I did.’
‘Have you lost the feelings that you had for the lady Fidelma?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Have you lost the feelings that you had for Alchú, you son?’
Again, Eadulf’s reply was emphatic.
‘Then,’ smiled Brother Conchobhar, ‘your malady seems a simple one. You are simply fearful of the responsibility that you will take on.’
Eadulf raised his chin pugnaciously. ‘Fearful?’
‘Exactly so. Perhaps you are not ready to be the husband of an Eóghanacht?’
Eadulf snorted indignantly. ‘I have been so this last year.’
Brother Conchobhar pulled a wry face. ‘Then what else can it be?’ he mused. ‘Unless. .’
Eadulf’s brows came together. ‘Unless?’ he demanded irritably.
‘Unless. . it is merely the pomp and circumstance that you are fearful of? The gathering crowd and the nobles and officials who are assembling to see the sister of Colgú wed? Do not forget that her father was the great Fáilbe Flann mac Aedo, one of the greatest kings of Muman. Fáilbe was a man respected among all the kingdoms of this island. And you are fearful of the honour that the people do to the lady Fidelma?’
Eadulf flushed.
‘That is not the way of it,’ he snapped. ‘I am just a plain man and no noble.’
Brother Conchobhar grinned crookedly. ‘You are no common man.’
‘I am but a simple magistrate who decided to choose the way of the religious. .’
‘That is not what I meant. Whatever your birth, you are no common man. No common man would be the choice of the lady Fidelma. She has seen in you something uncommon, something complementary and necessary to her. So, my friend, is it not how she perceives you that is the most important thing? Not your fears of how others perceive you.’
Eadulf was silent as he pondered the old man’s words.
‘Do I judge the basis of your fears correctly, my Saxon friend?’ Brother Conchobhar prompted.