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solemn features of Fidelma. She wheeled round and caught the hands of the Saxon monk. There was a bubbling humour in her green-blue eyes. The natural expression of merriment on her fresh, attractive face would make even the most sombre of religious wonder why such an alluring young woman had taken up the life of holy orders. Her tall, yet well-proportioned figure seemed to express a desire for a more active and joyous role in life than that in the cloistered confines of a religious community.
    ‘Eadulf! But I had heard that you were on your way back to the land of the Saxons?’
    Eadulf’s expression reformed itself in an embarrassed grin at her enthusiasm at seeing him again.
    ‘Not yet awhile. When I heard that Beccan was coming to find you, in order to send you on this journey to Araglin, I told your brother that I would like to see something of the country and the
law in operation. It gives me an excuse to stay a little longer in this land.’
    ‘It is good that you have come. If the truth be told, I was so bored here in Lios Mhór. It will be good to get up into the mountains; into the sweet air and have someone to talk with about this and that …’
    Eadulf laughed. It was a pleasant, good-natured laugh.
    ‘I have learnt what your sort of talk means,’ he replied pointedly.
    This time it was her turn to laugh. She had missed the debates which she used to have with Eadulf. Missed the way she could tease Eadulf over their conflicting opinions and philosophies; the way he would always rise with good humour to the bait which she threw at him. Their arguments would rage but there was no enmity between them. They learned together as they examined their interpretations of the moral principles of the founding fathers of their Faith and passionately contested their ideas of life.
    Eadulf was suddenly serious as he gazed at her animated features.
    ‘I, too, have missed our talks,’ he said quietly.
    They stared at one another in silence and then the door opened abruptly and Abbot Cathal came in. They moved apart in embarrassment.
    ‘It is done. The food will be ready. In fact, you are in luck. I am told that there is a farmer from Araglin who is just about to start on his return journey there. He can guide you on your way.’
    Fidelma regarded him hesitantly.
    ‘A farmer? Is he young or middle-aged?’ she queried cautiously.
    Abbot Cathal stared perplexed for a moment and then shrugged.
    ‘He is young. There is a young girl with him as well. Does this have some relevance?’
    ‘In this case, it does not matter.’ Fidelma shook her head with solemn amusement. ‘But had the farmer been an older man then I think it might well have made a difference. You see,’ she decided to explain to the clearly puzzled abbot, ‘I have just made a
judgment against a middle-aged farmer – one Muadnat. He might not take kindly to my company.’
    Abbot Cathal still looked bemused.
    ‘But all must accept the judgment of law.’ He seemed unable to contemplate the concept that a judgment under the law could cause any resentful emotions.
    ‘Not everyone accepts it in good grace, abbot,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But now I think that it is time that Brother Eadulf and I were on our way.’
    Abbot Cathal appeared reluctant to let them depart.
    ‘This may be the last time we see each other, Fidelma; at least for a while.’
    ‘Why so?’ she asked curiously.
    ‘Next week I shall be setting out on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. It has been my ambition for many years now. Brother Nemon will take my place as abbot here.’
    ‘The Holy Land?’ Fidelma sounded wistful. ‘That is a journey that one day I, too, hope to make. I wish you great joy of the journey, Cathal of Lios Mhór. May God be on every road you travel.’
    She held out her hand to the abbot who took it and clasped it firmly.
    ‘And may He continue to inspire your judgments, Fidelma of Kildare,’ the abbot replied solemnly. He smiled at them both in turn and half raised a