Peter Tremayne - Atonement of Blood

Eadulf was staring moodily out of the window at the darkening sky above the fortress of Cashel, the stronghold of Colgú, King of Muman. The Kingdom of Muman was the largest and most south-westerly of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann. The air was chill, and all day grey stormclouds had raced across the sky; low and intense, driven by strong and angry winds.

‘It will snow before long,’ he observed, turning to where his companion was seated before a mirror, putting the final touches to the position of a silver circlet which crowned her red-gold hair.

‘Rain is more likely,’ Fidelma replied, continuing to concentrate on her reflection. ‘It is not quite cold enough for snow.’

‘It’s cold enough for me,’ Eadulf muttered with a shiver as he left the window and crossed to where a wood fire was crackling in the hearth. ‘At least, whatever arrives, it should come and go quickly, for the clouds are moving fast with this westerly wind.’

‘It is the month of Cet Gaimrid , the start of winter,’ Fidelma pointed out, rising from her seat. ‘What do you expect but cold weather?’ She turned again to regard herself critically in the mirror. ‘Now, tell me truthfully, how do I look?’ She moved her head from side to side in order for him to inspect her.

Eadulf smiled softly. ‘Even more beautiful than the first time I saw you.’

Fidelma pulled a face at him in mock disapproval but she was not displeased with his response. Having finally left the religious, casting aside the robes of brown woollen homespun, she had now donned the clothes that revealed her as a Princess of the Eóghanacht. Eadulf knew that she only put on such fine clothes when there was an important occasion to be observed; this night was such an occasion.

There was a gentle tap on the door, and in response to Fidelma’s invitation it opened to admit a middle-aged woman of ample proportions with greying, untidy hair. Judging from her weathered skin, she was more used to the open air than the enclosure of the palace. She was dressed in comfortable homespun. Clutching her hand was a young child, about three years of age, with a mop of bright red hair and features that resembled Fidelma’s.

‘I thought you would like to say good night to your little one before you go to the feast, lady,’ the nurse, Muirgen, announced.

Fidelma immediately dropped into a crouch and held out her arms.

The boy ran forward to hug his mother. Then he pulled away from her with an anxious frown. ‘ Muimme says you are going to a feast. Are you going away for a long time? When will you come back?’

Fidelma laughed easily and hugged her son again. ‘We are only going down into the great hall, Alchú. You know where that is. We shall be back after our meal.’

Eadulf tried to conceal the emotion he felt. During the first three years of little Alchú’s life it seemed that they had barely spent any time with the boy. They were always travelling on some errand, either on behalf of Fidelma’s brother, the King, or on behalf of the clergy. Eadulf had seen what effect it had on the child, and he felt that it was time they settled into a more stable way of life. Their son was always nervous when there was any hint of them leaving. Eadulf’s one abiding image of Alchú was of the boy, standing in the cobbled courtyard, clutching at his nurse’s hand and trying not to give way to tears as he watched them ride out from Cashel.

‘We are not going anywhere, Alchú,’ he declared firmly, scooping the little lad in his arms and giving him a mock throw into the air.

The boy chuckled as he came down and clung to his father’s shoulder, his blue-green eyes gleaming.

‘Take me riding tomorrow, athair ?’ he asked.

‘I’ll take you, little hound,’ said Fidelma, giving the literal meaning of his name.

‘We’ll both take you,’ Eadulf promised, and set him down. Fidelma raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly, for she knew that Eadulf was not a natural horseman like she was and preferred to walk rather than ride. ‘Now you run off to bed like a good boy. We’ll look in on our way back from the feast and we’ll expect you to be asleep.’

‘Goodnight, mathair , goodnight, athair ,’ the boy said solemnly. Then he turned to his nurse with a skip. ‘I am going riding tomorrow, muimme !’ he shouted.

The elderly woman reached out a hand to take his. She acknowledged Fidelma and Eadulf with a quick nod before leading the boy from the room.

For a moment or two, Eadulf stared at the closed door. One thing he could never get used to in this adopted language of his was the fact that he and Fidelma were addressed by the formal athair and mathair , Mother and Father, while the intimate forms of muimme and aite , Mummy and Daddy, were reserved for foster-parents. He had heard the explanation many times but could never really understand it.

The clan society of the Five Kingdoms was also based on a fosterage system. When boys and girls reached the age of seven years old, they were sent away for their education in what was known as fosterage. It was practised by persons of all classes, but especially by nobles. Nobles fostered other nobles’ children; kings fostered other kings’ and nobles’ children. There were two kinds of fosterage — for affection or for payment. Among the nobles it was usually for affection. In this manner, the closest of ties were developed between the ruling families and the relationship was regarded as a sacred bond, as if it was a blood tie. In such a deeply based kin-society it was a sure way of preventing conflict and warfare.

In many ways, Eadulf felt it was a laudable system. It was just that the closeness of the fosterage system seemed to have caused a change in language whereby the blood parents were addressed in formal terms while the foster-parents were addressed in intimate terms.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Fidelma’s voice cut into his thoughts.

Eadulf turned and gave her a quick smile. ‘I was wondering what the reason was for this special feast that your brother has called for this evening?’

‘It is held in memory of a great poet and churchman of our people who died seventy years ago,’ she replied. ‘His name was Colmán mac Lénine.’

‘And are his poems worthy of such a celebration?’

‘Some would appear to think so,’ she said. ‘He was acclaimed as the royal poet of Muman. However, it is his services to the Faith that the abbots and bishops of Muman feel should be celebrated. He left the service of the King of Cashel and decided to travel through the kingdom preaching the New Faith. He finally established his own abbey at Cluain Uamha.’

‘The meadow of the cave?’ translated Eadulf. ‘Isn’t that an abbey to the south-west of here?’

‘Your knowledge is very good.’

‘So I suppose Abbot Ségdae of Imleach will be attending this feast?’

‘No. The Feast of Colmán keeps him in Imleach. One of Colmán’s achievements was to find the lost shrine of the Blessed Ailbe of Imleach, who brought the Faith to our kingdom. The ancients who buried Ailbe had kept his shrine a secret for fear it would be molested. The time came when no one left alive knew the secret. It was Colmán who solved the mystery and so he is blessed at Imleach and remembered there each year accordingly.’