Cathal had set aside his cup and had spread his cloak over his knees with the lining outermost. He slipped a small knife from his belt and began to pick at the fabric with the point. “You believe death wipes away sorrow so instantly?” he asked. “That in the life beyond, all ills are forgiven, all guilt assuaged? I cannot share that faith. You think the shade of my mother watches this alongside Aidan, her heart full of forgiveness for that wretch who destroyed her life?”

He sounded so bitter, so angry. “Perhaps she is proud of the fine man you have become,” I said. “She might well forgive your father, since without him you would not have existed. Sad though her life became, with her lover she must have had moments, blissful moments, when she believed herself the most adored, the most beautiful woman in existence. Perhaps, from wherever she is now, she can look back on that life and see that there was happiness in it.”