Eadulf grimaced wryly. ‘I suppose it is so: that what I find abhorrent others may find attractive.’ He pursed his lips reflectively. ‘So, as you say, that is that. I presume that Laigin will now return to the rule of the Fénechus Law?’
Fidelma smiled confidently. ‘It will be a while before the cruel punishments of the Penitentials are tried again. I hope that may be never.’
There was an awkward pause between them before Fidelma raised her eyes to his.
‘Are you determined on this course?’ she asked abruptly.
Eadulf seemed sad but resolute.
‘I am. I have duties both to Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury, as well as to your brother, for whom I undertook to take these messages.’
Fidelma had been confused these last few days at Eadulf’s quiet determination to continue his journey back to the lands of the Saxons. She had made it as clear as she felt possible that she would welcome him returning with her to Cashel. She had never seen Eadulf so stubborn before. Her pride had not permitted her to unbend further to him. He must surely know how she felt and yet … yet he would not return with her. He had insisted on travelling to the seaport to seek a ship and she had accompanied him, thinking to change his mind and persuade him to return with her. Brehon Morann had once told her that pride was merely a mask for one’s own faults. Was she at fault? What else could she say or do? Fidelma was hesitant, as if finding it difficult to express herself clearly.
‘Are you sure that I cannot persuade you to return with us to Cashel? You know that you will be most welcome at my brother’s court.’
‘I have my duty,’ replied Eadulf solemnly.
‘When duty becomes a creed then we may as well say goodbye to happiness,’ she ventured, remembering her own excuses about duty which had previously caused her to deny her feelings towards him.
Eadulf reached out to take her hands in his.
‘You are fond of quoting the sages, Fidelma. Wasn’t it Plautus who wrote that to an honest man, it is an honour to have remembered his duty?’
‘The Law of the Fénechus says that God does not demand that a man give more than his ability allows,’ she countered hotly, thinking that he was teasing her about her previous opinions.
There was a shout across the water and a small skiff was pulling away from one of the large sea-going ships which lay at anchor in the inlet. The rowers were pulling rapidly towards the quay and several people, carrying baggage, were gathering to await its arrival.
‘The tide is on the turn.’ Eadulf raised his head and felt the change of wind on his cheek. ‘The ship’s captain will want to get away. I must go on board now. It seems, then, that we are always parting. I remember the last time we parted at Cashel. You determined then that your duty lay in going on a pilgrimage to the Tomb of St James in Iberia.’
‘But I came back,’ Fidelma pointed out reproachfully.
‘True,’ he agreed with a quick smile. ‘Thank God that you did or I should not be here now. Yet you told me then that I had a duty towards Theodore of Canterbury. I recall your very words: “There is always a time to depart from a place even if one is unsure where one is going”.’
She bowed her head contritely. ‘I recall those words. Perhaps I was wrong.’
‘And do you recall me replying that I felt at home in Cashel and could find a means to stay in spite of the demands of Canterbury?’
She remembered his words very clearly and she also remembered how she had answered him.
‘Heraclitus said that you cannot step twice into the same river for other waters are continually flowing into it. That is what I answered. I remember.’
‘I cannot return to Cashel now, for honour’s sake. I have promises to keep at Canterbury.’
He made to turn away and then swung back, seizing her hands again. His eyes were moist. He was on the verge of telling her that he wouldreturn to Cashel but he knew that he had to be strong if they had any future together.
‘I do not want to be parted from you again so soon, Fidelma. One of your ancient triads asks — what are the three diseases that you may suffer without shame?’
She reddened a little and replied softly, ‘An itch, a thirst and love.’
‘Will you come with me?’ Eadulf asked with rough enthusiasm. ‘Come with me to Canterbury? There would be no shame in that.’
‘Would that be a wise decision for me to make?’ Fidelma asked with a ghost of a smile trembling on her lips. Her emotions wanted her to say yes, but logic held her back.
‘I am not sure wisdom enters into such matters,’ Eadulf said. ‘All I know is that no wind will serve the sails on your ship of life unless you steer for a particular port.’
Fidelma glanced behind her.
Along the quay Dego, Enda and Aidan were standing, waiting patiently while Fidelma and Eadulf said their farewells. They were holding the horses ready to commence the journey back to Cashel. She thought for a moment. No decision would come immediately. Perhaps being unable to make a decision, was a decision in itself? She did not know how to respond. Her thoughts were too confused. Eadulf seemed attuned to her doubts.
‘If you need to stay, stay; I will understand,’ he told her, his voice soft in resignation.
Fidelma met his warm brown eyes with her fiery green ones for several long seconds before she squeezed his hand, smiled quickly, let it fall, turned and walked silently away.
Eadulf made no attempt to say anything else. He watched her walking with a firm step back towards her mare. Aidan and Enda mounted their horses in readiness and Dego moved forward, leading her mount. Eadulf waited, his mind in conflict, torn between uncertainty and anticipation. He watched as she spoke a few words to Dego. Then she took her saddle bag from her horse. When she returned to Eadulf her face was flushed but she was smiling confidently.
‘Brehon Morann said that if reason cannot be satisfied, then follow the impulse. Let’s go aboard the ship before the captain sails without us.’