Wenbrit. He can also occupy the cabin. I don’t mind cats. I was just startled when it … when he jumped on me.’
The boy shrugged.
‘You have only to let me know, if he is being a nuisance.’
‘What name do you call him?’
‘Luchtighern – Mouse Lord.’
Fidelma grinned as she regarded her new travelling companion.
‘That was the name of the cat who dwelt in the Cave of Dunmore and defeated all the warriors of the King of Laigin who were sent against him. Only when a female warrior came to fight him did he succumb.’
The boy regarded her in puzzlement.
‘I have never heard of such a cat.’
‘It’s just an ancient story. Who named him Luchtighern?’
‘The captain. He knows all the stories although I can’t remember him telling me that one.’
‘I suppose had it been a she-cat he would have called her Baircne, ship-heroine, after the first cat to arrive in Eireann in the barque of Bresal Bec.’ Fidelma mused.
‘But it’s a male cat,’ protested the boy.
‘I know,’ she assured him. ‘Well, we will not disturb Mouse Lord any further.’
After Wenbrit left, Fidelma returned to her bunk and lay carefully back with the cat curled up snugly at her feet. Its warm, purring presence was curiously comforting. She closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. What had she been thinking of before the cat arrived? Ah yes – Cian. Her mouth hardened. How could she have been such a fool? Her youth and lack of experience were her only excuses.
She had imagined that Cian had gone out of her life for ever when she was eighteen years old, leaving only painful memories. Now, here he was again, and she was going to have to endure him in the restricted confines of this ship for at least a week. She felt an anxiety about her emotions. Why have this violent reaction if she had recovered from the experience of her youth – if it had not been haunting her ever since her days at Tara? Perhaps it was the fact that she had never dealt properly with the experience, that caused her to feel such anger when she saw him again.
Cian! How could she have been so naive? How could she have let him dupe her and tear her soul apart?
She had forgiven him for his behaviour several times, even rejecting the advice of her best friend Grian, who told her to forget Cian and turn him away. But she had not turned him away and each time he erred she was torn apart by unhappiness. As a result, her work as a student suffered until she was called before the aging Brehon Morann.
She could recall the scene vividly, feel those same emotions which had gripped her as she stood before her old mentor.
Brehon Morann gazed at Fidelma with stern but sympathetic eyes.
‘You have done yourself little credit this day, Fidelma,’ he had begun ominously. ‘It seems that you have lost your ability to concentrate on the simplest lessons.’
Fidelma’s jaw came up defensively.
‘Wait!’ The Brehon Morann raised a frail hand as if he anticipated
the justifications which rose to her lips. ‘Is it not said that the person unable to dance blames the unevenness of the floor?’
Fidelma coloured hotly.
‘I know the reason why you have not concentrated on your studies,’ the old man went on in a firm, calm tone. ‘I am not here to condemn you. I will, however, tell you the truth.’
‘What is the truth?’ she demanded, still irritated, though she realised that the irritation lay more with herself than anyone else.
Brehon Morann regarded her with unblinking grey eyes.
‘The truth is that you must discover what is the truth, and that discovery must be made soon. Otherwise you will not succeed in your studies.’
Fidelma’s lips thinned as she pressed them close together for a moment.
‘Are you saying that you will fail me?’ she demanded. ‘That you will fail my work?’
‘No. You will fail yourself.’
Fidelma let out a low, angry breath. She stared at the Brehon Morann for a moment before
The boy shrugged.
‘You have only to let me know, if he is being a nuisance.’
‘What name do you call him?’
‘Luchtighern – Mouse Lord.’
Fidelma grinned as she regarded her new travelling companion.
‘That was the name of the cat who dwelt in the Cave of Dunmore and defeated all the warriors of the King of Laigin who were sent against him. Only when a female warrior came to fight him did he succumb.’
The boy regarded her in puzzlement.
‘I have never heard of such a cat.’
‘It’s just an ancient story. Who named him Luchtighern?’
‘The captain. He knows all the stories although I can’t remember him telling me that one.’
‘I suppose had it been a she-cat he would have called her Baircne, ship-heroine, after the first cat to arrive in Eireann in the barque of Bresal Bec.’ Fidelma mused.
‘But it’s a male cat,’ protested the boy.
‘I know,’ she assured him. ‘Well, we will not disturb Mouse Lord any further.’
After Wenbrit left, Fidelma returned to her bunk and lay carefully back with the cat curled up snugly at her feet. Its warm, purring presence was curiously comforting. She closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. What had she been thinking of before the cat arrived? Ah yes – Cian. Her mouth hardened. How could she have been such a fool? Her youth and lack of experience were her only excuses.
She had imagined that Cian had gone out of her life for ever when she was eighteen years old, leaving only painful memories. Now, here he was again, and she was going to have to endure him in the restricted confines of this ship for at least a week. She felt an anxiety about her emotions. Why have this violent reaction if she had recovered from the experience of her youth – if it had not been haunting her ever since her days at Tara? Perhaps it was the fact that she had never dealt properly with the experience, that caused her to feel such anger when she saw him again.
Cian! How could she have been so naive? How could she have let him dupe her and tear her soul apart?
She had forgiven him for his behaviour several times, even rejecting the advice of her best friend Grian, who told her to forget Cian and turn him away. But she had not turned him away and each time he erred she was torn apart by unhappiness. As a result, her work as a student suffered until she was called before the aging Brehon Morann.
She could recall the scene vividly, feel those same emotions which had gripped her as she stood before her old mentor.
Brehon Morann gazed at Fidelma with stern but sympathetic eyes.
‘You have done yourself little credit this day, Fidelma,’ he had begun ominously. ‘It seems that you have lost your ability to concentrate on the simplest lessons.’
Fidelma’s jaw came up defensively.
‘Wait!’ The Brehon Morann raised a frail hand as if he anticipated
the justifications which rose to her lips. ‘Is it not said that the person unable to dance blames the unevenness of the floor?’
Fidelma coloured hotly.
‘I know the reason why you have not concentrated on your studies,’ the old man went on in a firm, calm tone. ‘I am not here to condemn you. I will, however, tell you the truth.’
‘What is the truth?’ she demanded, still irritated, though she realised that the irritation lay more with herself than anyone else.
Brehon Morann regarded her with unblinking grey eyes.
‘The truth is that you must discover what is the truth, and that discovery must be made soon. Otherwise you will not succeed in your studies.’
Fidelma’s lips thinned as she pressed them close together for a moment.
‘Are you saying that you will fail me?’ she demanded. ‘That you will fail my work?’
‘No. You will fail yourself.’
Fidelma let out a low, angry breath. She stared at the Brehon Morann for a moment before
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