Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Had Ciarnat not given them specific directions, Fidelma and her companions would never have found the mill of Marban. They had left the fortress as dawn was breaking over the distant eastern hills and begun to move south along the western bank of the river, whose path continued to frequently twist and change. It was Gormán who indicated where they should turn westward, following what appeared to be an insignificant watercourse that had entered the main flow of the waterway.

He was quietly confident, saying, ‘We need to look for a rocky place — that is, if the name An Cregáin indicates the terrain.’

They could smell the cornmill before they came to it: it was the aroma of corn drying in the kilns in preparation for the grinding. Most mills would have large kilns or ovens which were called sorn-na hátha, heated by wood. These required skill to work. If the person looking after them was lax and the ovens overheated or caught fire, then the corn would be burned and ruined. In some rural parts Eadulf had seen a more primitive form of drying which was done by roasting the corn on the ear. The person in charge would set fire to the ear and then watch for the right moment when the outer husk or chaff was burned but before it had a chance to reach the grain. It was then that the burning chaff was struck off, using a stick.

The mill seemed to be well-hidden. They followed the smell of the drying corn along a small path through the trees, emerging from the treeline onto some high rocky ground, where they caught sight of the mill. It was a watermill, situated by a stream, a millpond before it and a spring behind it. To one side were storehouses and beyond them, at some distance, were two large stonebuilt kilns with smoke billowing and men checking the corn that was being fed into them or turning it to heat it evenly. There were several workers at the mill, which was clearly a large and important one.

Suddenly, one of the men spotted them; laying aside his fork, he came over to meet them. His eyes swept over them, taking in their clothes and lingering a moment on Gormán and his gold torc.

‘Is this the mill of Marban?’ Fidelma enquired.

‘It is, indeed, lady,’ replied the other with a courteous bow.

‘Are you Marban?’

‘I am not. Marban is in his millhouse. Shall I summon him?’

‘No, we will go to him,’ Fidelma answered as she dismounted. Gormán remained with the horses while Eadulf accompanied her to the mill. They had not reached the door when it opened. A giant of a man appeared. He was shirtless but with a leather apron covering his great chest and leaving his muscular tanned arms bare. He had a large head, covered with a mass of dark red hair, and a large bristling beard. His arrogant light blue eyes were half-covered by drooping lids. He gazed at them with a truculent expression.

‘Are you Marban?’ asked Fidelma.

The man did not reply immediately. If anything he seemed to intensify his scrutiny of her.

‘I am Marban the miller,’ he finally conceded. ‘I do not know you, lady. You travel with a foreign religieux but I see you also travel with a warrior of the Golden Collar,’ he indicated Gormán, still seated astride his horse behind them. ‘Further, I see you wear the same golden collar round your neck. That means you are an Eóghanacht.’

‘You have a sharp eye, Marban the miller.’

‘A man with poor eyesight is no judge of cows on the distant hill.’

‘’Tis true for you. But we come in peace, my friend.’

‘Then you may go in peace.’

Fidelma glanced around. The workmen had not stopped their tasks but she was aware that eyes were watching them, noting their every move.

‘You are wary, my friend. What ails you?’ she demanded softly.

Marban eased his weight from one foot to the other.

‘You may recall that you are in Uí Fidgente country, lady. As yet I do not know who you are but the golden collar denotes where you come from.’

‘Then know, Marban, I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú.’

The big man’s eyes narrowed further. He shifted his weight once again.

‘There has been some talk of you in these parts,’ he admitted. ‘You are a Brehon. It was also said that you were married to a foreigner.’ He glanced towards Eadulf.

‘I hope you will also have heard that I am a dálaigh,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘And you will know that you must answer when I put questions to you.’

Marban’s mouth was barely discernible through his bristling beard but there was a movement of the facial muscles that might have indicated a smile.

‘I have no fear of lawyers, lady. This is my own mill and I block no one’s access to the water supply. Those farms about me have their fill. The mill has been assessed according to the eight parts as listed in the Senchus Mór, and anyone who is injured in the working of the mill is compensated according to the direction of the Book of Aicill. Sometimes accidents happen and the proper assignment of liability is provided for in accordance with the instruction of the local Brehon.’

Fidelma hid her amusement. ‘You seem to know much about your rights and obligations under the law, Marban. Perhaps you are a lawyer, too?’

The big man shook his mane of hair. ‘Not I.’

Eadulf was looking puzzled so Fidelma explained quickly: ‘The law lists the eight components of the mill and the legal construction of them.’ She turned back to the miller. ‘Are you often in need of a Brehon?’

‘No, not often, because Prince Donennach rules in justice.’

‘Ah? So you approve of Prince Donennach?’

‘He has done much to save our territory from devastation,’ replied the miller gruffly.

‘From devastation … from the warriors of Cashel?’ Fidelma’s voice was almost teasing.

‘I have told you, lady, that you are in the territory of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘I understand.’

‘I don’t think you truly do,’ countered the miller. ‘When our warriors suffered defeat on Cnoc Áine, our people were shattered. Your brother’s warriors came among us to make sure that we continued to be weak enough not to challenge Cashel again. Many of those leaders who had supported Prince Eoganán and his vain attempt to gain the kingdom were dead or fled. For a while we were without order and law — unless it was the order of your brother’s warriors and their law.’

‘You cannot expect us to feel sympathy for the Uí Fidgente who unwisely followed Eoganán on his foolish venture to overthrow Colgú and who, being justly defeated, were also justly punished,’ Eadulf intervened. ‘I myself was taken off a ship on the high seas and sent as a slave to work in the copper mines which were being used by Torcán, the son of Eoganán, to trade for men and arms. Eoganán and his son were not so concerned about the treatment they gave to those they intended to conquer so I shall not feel much sympathy either.’

Marban stood regarding Eadulf as he spoke. Eventually he said, ‘I can understand how you must feel. But an injustice faced by an injustice does not equate to justice.’

‘A good philosophical argument, Miller.’ Fidelma’s tone was distant. ‘But a discussion on the ethics of the conflict is not why we have come here.’

The burly miller sniffed. ‘I was wondering if your visit had a purpose.’

‘I am told that you are related to a ferryman, sometime fisherman, called Escmug.’

The miller’s eyes widened for the first time and he seemed about to make an involuntary movement backwards but straightened himself.

‘Escmug? He is dead.’ The words came out emphatically.

‘Then you will not object to telling us something about him?’

Suspicion was shaping Marban’s features. ‘Why?’

A fine, misty rain had started to spread, almost indiscernibly at first, like settling dew. Fidelma drew her cloak more tightly across her shoulders.

‘Perhaps we could find a more comfortable place to talk, or is the custom of hospitality absent in this part of the world?’

Marban stared angrily at her for a moment and then pointed to some large sheds to which some of the workers were hurrying as the misty rain turned into heavier drops.

‘Your … escort,’ he indicated Gormán, ‘can shelter your horses in the stable there. We can speak in the mill.’

Eadulf turned and hurried back to Gormán with the instruction before rejoining Fidelma and the miller in the interior of the mill. It was gloomy but warm and the atmosphere was heavy with the dust of ground corn. The miller indicated a bench for them to be seated on before he perched himself on the bottom of a stairway that led to an upper floor.

‘Escmug is dead,’ he repeated heavily. ‘What would you want to know about him?’

‘You were related to him, so I am told.’

‘Since you know, why ask?’

‘I ask in order to confirm it. We can either make this easy or spend the day, longer if you like, extracting replies.’ Suddenly Fidelma’s voice had grown brittle, threatening. ‘You know the penalties for not answering the questions of a dálaigh or for not answering them truthfully? Now, is it so?’

The miller shifted his body uncomfortably. ‘It is. He was my elder brother. I was not close to him, nor did I ever want to be. If you must know, I hated him. He only saw me when he needed help, and I grew tired of giving it to him.’

‘Didn’t he have a good business on the river?’

‘When he was sober enough, which was hardly ever. He was a brute of a man. He beat his wife and his child and neglected them both. When they were alive, it was the only reason that I offered to help him — for their sakes.’

‘You speak of his wife and child as dead.’

‘They are all dead now. Escmug’s body was found in the river.’

‘And his wife?’

‘Liamuin? She had run away from his ill-treatment and was reported dead. Why she ever consented to wed him, I don’t know.’

‘Tell me something about her.’

‘Her father was Ledbán, who was the stableman to the lord Codlata at the Ford of Flagstones which is just north of here. When Ledbán’s wife died of the Yellow Plague he entered the Abbey of Mungairit where his son was the physician.’

‘So Brother Lennán was brother to Liamuin?’

It was now Marban’s turn to look surprised. ‘You know the story?’

‘We were at Mungairit a few days ago. We saw Ledbán. He died while we were there.’

Marban let out a long sigh. ‘He was old and made older by the fate of his family. His wife died of the Yellow Plague, his son was slain at Cnoc Áine while nursing the wounded, and his daughter … his daughter married a beast like Escmug. No wonder Ledbán sought tranquillity in Mungairit. If gossip is to be believed, I think his lord, Codlata, also sought refuge there.’

‘Why would Codlata seek refuge in Mungairit?’ asked Eadulf, intrigued.

‘He was a nephew and steward to Prince Eoganán, and commanded a company of his warriors at Cnoc Áine,’ replied the miller. ‘Many of Eoganán’s family sought ways of protecting themselves after the defeat.’

Eadulf cast a thoughtful glance at Fidelma but she was concentrating on other matters.

‘Tell me more about Liamuin.’

‘She was an attractive girl. I could not believe that she would be fascinated by such a beast as Escmug, even though he was my own brother.’

‘The attraction between a man and woman is one of the great mysteries of the world,’ Eadulf remarked.

The miller nodded. ‘Is it not an old saying that the three most incomprehensible things in the world are the labour of bees, the ebb and flow of the tide and the mind of a woman — begging your pardon, lady.’

‘So the wedding did not meet with the approval of Liamuin’s family?’

‘Everyone was unhappy. They all hated Escmug.’

‘But Escmug was your own brother.’

‘In every litter there is usually one who turns out bad.’

‘And that was Escmug? But he and Liamuin had a child.’

‘Aibell? A sad child, indeed. When Liamuin left Escmug, and not before time, the poor girl had to endure her father’s wrath until finally, she too disappeared.’

‘So what happened to Escmug?’

‘His body was found lodged in a beaver dam on the river.’

‘We have heard that he might have been murdered,’ Eadulf said.

Marban gave another of his eloquent shrugs. ‘Some thought that being the man he was, perhaps he was helped to depart to the Otherworld,’ he said. ‘If so, no one mourned his passing.’

‘The story we heard was that some people thought he had killed his wife,’ Eadulf put in.

The miller was silent.

‘You said both his wife and child were dead,’ Fidelma went on. ‘Do you know that as a fact? Did Escmug find and kill them?’

‘Escmug never did anything unless there was something to gain. Why kill his wife who had become a virtual slave in his household?’

‘Even the lowliest slave can rebel,’ Eadulf murmured.

‘Liamuin left him,’ said Marban, his voice hollow. ‘I heard sometime later that she had died.’

‘So she ran away, leaving her young daughter?’

‘Liamuin could not stand her life any more. She would have taken the child with her, but the opportunity did not arise. She had to seize her own chance, and so she fled.’

Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the miller and an idea came to her.

‘Did she come here?’ she asked.

For a moment the miller stared at her as if he would deny it — and then he shrugged. ‘Where else would she go? Her brother had just been killed at Cnoc Áine and her father was serving in the Abbey of Mungairit. There was no one to protect her. Yes, she came here.’

‘Were you in love with her?’ This was Eadulf.

‘Perhaps I was. But she was never in love with me.’

‘When did she die? What happened? Did Escmug catch up with her?’

Even in the gloom, they saw a look of grief spread over the miller’s face. ‘As I say, she came here first. She could no longer bear life with Escmug but circumstances dictated that she had to leave young Aibell behind when she made her bid for freedom. When she arrived here, she and I both knew it would not be long before Escmug followed her. I suggested that she should seek refuge at a place in the hills further south. You see, I had a patron there who owned a fortified house just where the river rises. I felt she would be safe there as there was nothing to connect the place with Liamuin.’

‘Obviously, since she is dead, it was not safe,’ Eadulf commented.

‘But not for the reasons you are supposing,’ snapped Marban.

‘Tell us then, who was your patron?’

‘Menma. He was a bó-aire who sent his corn to me to be dried and ground. His rath lay on the side of the hills at what was called the Old Ridge, at the spot where one of the springs rises that come down to feed the river. That is An Mháigh. I was worried that Escmug was close behind her, so I took her to Menma myself and he promised me that he would protect her. When I returned here, I found Escmug. He was in a rage. He had a horse-whip in his hand and was threatening what he would do once he caught up with Liamuin. I denied all knowledge of anything to do with her, and eventually he returned to Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

‘And then?’

‘Some weeks passed.’ The miller sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Then I heard that Aibell had also disappeared. I hoped she had run away — but she never came here to me.’

‘Was nothing done to rescue the child and reunite her with her mother?’

‘I had discussed the matter with Liamuin once she was safe. Unfortunately, Escmug must have suspected such an idea, for he kept the child within sight almost the whole time.’

‘But you said she was dead?’

‘One day Escmug arrived here. He was smiling, calm and cold of temper. I feared the worst.’

‘Which was?’

‘I felt he had killed the girl. He then said that he knew I had helped to hide Liamuin. Someone had told him that she had been seen with me, and he said he was going to find her and make her pay. I had the choice to tell him where she was, or suffer the consequences. And then he boasted that he had taken his daughter Aibell and sold her in bondage to Fidaig. I protested that she was at the age of choice. He merely laughed. Said her bondage would be something for Liamuin to reflect on when he caught up with her.’ Marban suddenly fell silent. ‘I could not let him find her.’

Fidelma leaned slightly towards him.

‘Before you consider what you have to tell me, Marban, I should explain that in law there is what we recognise as colainnéraic — the existence of circumstances in which the killing of another person is justified and entails no penalty. This is when the killing occurs as an act of self-defence.’

The miller stared at her, his face pale.

‘You knew all along that I had killed Escmug?’ he said heavily. ‘Is that why you came here?’

‘We knew nothing, until you began to tell us. Did you kill Escmug and then put the body in a beaver dam?’

The miller shuddered violently. ‘I killed him right enough. And yes, it was in self-defence. When I refused to tell him where Liamuin was and said I would tell the local Brehon how he had placed his daughter in bondage, he went berserk. He grabbed an axe. There was a wooden stave nearby and I seized it. I caught him on the side of the head and he went down. It was a chance blow and he did not move afterwards. When I examined him, I found he was dead. I carried the body to the main river and heaved it in, thinking it would float downstream so that he would be found. But the current took him into the dam where his corpse lodged for a while. It was found sometime later.’

‘And no one helped you? You did this alone?’

‘It happened as I said. He was shouting and raving. His anger grew murderous as he realised that I had been helping Liamuin the whole time. No one else was involved.’

Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘So his death was in self-defence,’ she murmured.

‘But what of Liamuin?’ Eadulf wanted to know. ‘You said that she was dead?’

‘So I have been told.’

‘You must know more. Explain.’

‘All of this happened after the war against Cashel. With the defeat and death of our Prince, warriors of Cashel came to occupy certain places to ensure our people were pacified. It was not a good time for any of us.’

‘Go on,’ prompted Fidelma when he paused.

‘Menma told me that a warrior came to his rath and demanded to stay.’

‘Who was this warrior?’

‘I do not know. Only that he was of Cashel and wore the same golden circlet around his neck as you wear.’

‘Then he was a member of my brother’s bodyguard?’

‘Whoever he was, lady, my friend Menma was forced to give him hospitality. It seemed his task was to ensure there were no threatening disturbances in the foothills that border the territory of our lands with those of the Luachra.’

Even Eadulf had to chuckle at this. ‘One warrior?’

‘He was the commander of a troop that encamped in those hills between Sliabh Luachra and the Uí Fidgente territory. He would go and consult with them from time to time to ensure there were no rumblings of discontent while the peace negotiations were continuing.’

The miller stopped and wiped his brow with a piece of cloth before going on.

‘As I said earlier, the mind of a woman is beyond understanding. Within a short space of time Liamuin and this Cashel warrior grew close; even though her own brother had been killed at Cnoc Áine, she and this warrior became lovers. Menma tried to warn her. He even sent for me to come and try to speak with her.’

‘And did you?’

Marban sighed deeply. ‘When I reached Menma’s fortress, it was a burned-out shell. Menma, my good friend, was dead, along with his wife and sons and almost his entire household. Liamuin was also dead.’

‘And this Cashel warrior?’

‘I found out from neighbours that one day, after it was thought this warrior had gone into the hills, he and his men suddenly returned and without warning they attacked Menma’s fortified house. I was told that Liamuin was struck down by one of his bowmen. The place was put to the torch. The folk from a neighbouring farmstead buried them.’

‘And could anyone identify the warrior who had done this terrible deed?’ Fidelma’s voice had gone dry. When Marban silently shook his head, she went on: ‘What of these neighbours? Did they not learn anything at all about him?’

‘Only that he was from Cashel and wore the golden collar. It is some years now, but I think there was a survivor who reached the safety of the forest during the attack. I am not sure, but that is what I was told. A name might be known among those neighbouring farmsteads.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘Do you mean that Menma’s farmstead was the only one torched? That the other farmsteads were left alone?’

‘It seemed so. But such things were what we of the Uí Fidgente had to endure in those months after the defeat at Cnoc Áine,’ the miller added bitterly.

There was a silence and then Fidelma said: ‘I can assure you, Marban, that I will do all in my power to find out who that warrior and his men were. There is surely a way of tracking him down. When we do, he will find himself answerable to the law.’

The miller uttered a cynical laugh as he said, ‘I am an Uí Fidgente, lady. The warrior was an Eóganacht, one of your kind. Do you seriously expect me to believe that the victor will punish his own?’

‘That is the law, and if it is not applied then there is no justice.’

‘I have seen enough Eóganacht justice,’ the miller grunted.

‘You will see it,’ emphasised Fidelma. ‘That is my promise.’

‘And you will swear that on all that is sacred to you?’

‘On all that is sacred to me, I swear it,’ she replied solemnly.

There was a silence and then Eadulf said: ‘And what of her daughter, Aibell? You have not said why you believe her to be dead.’

This time the man hesitated a moment. ‘I went to Fidaig, as Escmug said he had sold her to him as a bondservant, but Fidaig denied all knowledge of the transaction. So I realised that either Fidaig was lying, or that Escmug must have killed the girl, as people suspected. My brother was a vile, vengeful man. Anyway, to all intents my niece was beyond rescue and therefore as good as dead.’ The miller bowed his head, sighed, then rose suddenly, saying, ‘I must attend to my workers. I presume you are anxious to continue your journey?’

‘We are anxious,’ replied Fidelma, ‘but the giving and taking of hospitality is a sacred thing in itself. We will take food with you, Marban, before we continue our journey.’

After Marban had left, Eadulf commented, ‘Vengeance seems the motive for the attack on your brother.’

‘Vengeance? Indeed. The assassin chose to strike him down because he was the King whose warrior had done this. Yes, vengeance — but from whom? The would-be assassin was certainly not Liamuin’s brother, or father or anyone else who was related to her … unless he was somehow connected with Aibell. But what did Aibell know of her mother’s death and who killed her? Also, the assassin shouted, “Remember Liamuin” as if that name would mean something to Colgú. Yet Colgú swore — even as he might have been dying from his wound — that the name meant absolutely nothing to him. No, Eadulf, there is still a mystery here.’

‘You think the miller knows more than he is saying?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He did not have to give us such details — even down to admitting that he killed his own brother. I think he has been completely honest and told us all he could.’

‘Then what do we do now?’

‘There is only one path for us, and that is to see if we can find the survivors of Menma’s house. Above all, we must try to identify the warrior who killed Liamuin.’

Just then, the door of the millhouse swung open and Gormán came in. ‘The horses are safe, lady,’ he said, ‘So I thought I would come and see what is happening. The miller and his men are securing the kilns as the rain seems to have ended their day’s work.’

Fidelma turned to him with a frown.

‘Did you fight at Cnoc Áíne, Gormán?’

‘Alas, lady, I did not. I was still trying to convince my master that I had the skill to be a warrior. I was studying at the school of the Múscraige Breogain then.’

‘I don’t suppose you know which of the warriors of the Golden Collar went into the land of the Uí Fidgente at that time?’

‘Capa was the commander at that period. It was not until after that time that I was allowed to serve in the bodyguard at Cashel. Indeed, it was when Capa was replaced by Caol that I was admitted into the Golden Collar. As you know, Capa had tried to convince the King that I was responsible for the abduction of your child …’

‘I remember well enough, Gormán,’ Fidelma replied tightly. ‘I presume Caol was at Cnoc Áine?’

‘A lot of the Nasc Niadh were, lady. It was a great battle. Enda, Aidan, Dego, all of them were there.’

‘Did they ever speak of the months afterwards, when my brother sent them and some of their companies to ensure that peace prevailed in the territory of the Uí Fidgente?’

Gormán thought for a moment and then said: ‘I don’t recollect anything specific. I think everyone wanted to boast about their deeds in the main battle rather than focus on the more mundane action of making sure the peace was kept after the Uí Fidgente were defeated.’

‘But most of the warriors of the Golden Collar, who were the élite commanders, had territories to oversee.’

‘So I understood. But that did not last for long, only until the new Prince of the Uí Fidgente struck his accord with your brother. Prince Donennach accepted that if there was any infringement to the peace, he was answerable to Cashel and therefore it was in his interest to ensure there was no such unrest.’

‘Would it be hard to discover which of the warriors of the Golden Collar were sent to this area?’

‘I am not sure, lady. But we are near Dún Eochair Mháigh, which is the chief fortress of the Uí Fidgente. Would it not be logical that Colgú himself would have come here to oversee the peace?’

There was a brief silence and a troubled look crossed Fidelma’s features.

‘We are told he did not. The King would not spend months in some remote spot in the foothills south of here,’ Eadulf said quickly, knowing what was passing through her mind. ‘Those foothills lead into the mountains of the Luachra. We are looking for a warrior of the Golden Collar who was based there.’

Suddenly, voices were raised outside — then the door burst open. Gormán swung round, hand on the hilt of his sword, and Fidelma and Eadulf rose to their feet.

Marban stood on the threshold, his face grim.

‘We have word that some of Fidaig’s warriors are coming this way. I suggest that you go up to the top of the mill building and make yourselves inconspicuous.’

‘Fidaig? Of the Luachra?’ breathed Fidelma. ‘But this is not his territory.’

‘There is no time to debate borders, lady. His warriors are not given to intellectual discussion. They come by right of their swords.’

‘Why would you think that we should hide?’ asked Gormán.

‘Because you are who you are,’ the miller replied simply. ‘Fidaig’s men are hard to control once they sense sport, and their idea of sport is not one that you would appreciate. Hide.’

‘But why are you doing this?’ Fidelma asked. ‘You are an Uí Fidgente.’

‘I am willing to see if you are right about Eóghanacht justice. Above all, I want justice for Liamuin.’

‘I have sworn justice will be done,’ Fidelma assured him.

‘Then go above the stairs and wait until they have gone.’

With that he left them, shutting the door behind him. They did not delay but climbed the stairs through the millhouse until they reached the small top-floor area. There were two windows, one overlooking the stream and sluice gates from the spring which, when the gates were opened, started the water-wheel moving by the passage of the water into the millpond. The other overlooked the grounds outside with the kiln and stables.

Eadulf glanced quickly round. ‘Well, if we are about to be betrayed, they have to come up those stairs. Only one man at a time. We can easily defend this place.’

Gormán grinned. ‘True, friend Eadulf. Except that I do not think they would bother if they were intent on catching us. They would merely wait at the bottom of the mill until we came down.’

‘Starve us out?’

‘Probably set light to the mill and we would have the choice of perishing in the flames or perishing by their swords.’

‘You are a cheerful soul, young Gormán,’ Eadulf replied without enthusiasm.

Fidelma told them to be quiet and moved carefully to the window overlooking the working area before the mill.

‘Keep down,’ she hissed. ‘A dozen horsemen are arriving. Marban is going forward to greet them.’

They could hear brief snatches of conversation. The leader of the horsemen asked a series of sharp questions to which the burly miller seemed to reply in obsequious manner, bowing and pointing to the north-west. To their relief the exchange did not last long. The horses cantered off. Moments later, they heard the miller climbing the stairs until finally his head appeared in the aperture in the floor.

‘You can come down,’ he said. ‘They’ve all gone.’

Fidelma had a strange expression on her face. ‘I recognised the young warrior leading them by his tone of voice. Who was he, Marban?’

‘That was one of the sons of Fidaig. His name is Gláed.’

‘Gláed?’ Fidelma drew in a breath. ‘I would have said his name was Adamrae.’