Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER THREE

Gormán stood staring down in astonishment at the young woman.

Her tousled blue-black hair was cut short, not in the usual fashion, and it was quite dirty, scattered with dead leaves and wisps of straw. There were patches of dried mud on her face but, nonetheless, the features were quite attractive, symmetrical with a splash of freckles on the cheeks, dark flashing eyes and full lips that needed no berry-juice to enhance them. At the moment, those lips were drawn back in a snarl showing very white and even teeth. Her clothes were of poor quality, soiled and torn, and there were no shoes on her feet.

‘What are you gawping at, you big bully!’ she growled at the young warrior.

Gormán started at being addressed in such a fashion. Then he slowly replaced his sword in its sheath before reaching out a hand to assist the girl to rise.

She ignored him, rolling quickly over and scrambling to her feet. They could see now that she was no more than twenty.

‘And who are you?’ Fidelma asked mildly.

The girl turned on her with an unfriendly expression.

‘What business is it of yours?’ she replied pugnaciously.

‘The lady is Fidelma of Cashel and a dálaigh,’ Gormán said in a shocked tone. ‘When an attorney of the courts of the Brehons asks, it is your duty to give your name.’

The girl raised her hands to her hips and stared truculently at him.

‘My name is mine to keep.’

‘Watch your manners, girl!’ Gormán replied, anger in his voice. ‘You are speaking to the King’s sister.’

There was a slight narrowing of the girl’s eyes, which was the only reaction to this information. She remained as belligerent as before.

‘And that makes a difference as to whether I care to give my name or not?’ she sneered.

‘Not that I am a King’s sister,’ replied Fidelma. Her voice was dangerously cold and even. ‘But that I am a member of the courts of the Brehons and that I am qualified to the level of … ah, but I doubt whether that would mean much to you. Sufficient to say that my office gives me the right to question you and places you under the obligation of answering.’

‘You use long words,’ sniffed the girl.

‘It means that you are required to answer,’ snapped Gormán, clearly outraged by the girl’s behaviour. ‘And you should do so with deference.’

‘Words I have no use for,’ the girl went on.

‘Do you have a use for the word “punishment”?’ asked Gormán, taking a menacing step forward.

The girl wheeled around towards him, almost in a crouch. In her hand there had appeared a small glinting dagger.

‘Try to attack me, bully, and you are a dead man!’

Gormán took a step back, surprise clearly showing on his features.

Eadulf, who had been standing in silence during this time, leaped forward, grasped the girl’s wrist and twisted it slightly, so that the knife dropped from her hand onto the forest floor, then kicked it out of her reach. She spun round, her eyes flashing and her teeth bared. For a moment or so it seemed she was about to launch herself on Eadulf, her hands clenching and unclenching like claws.

‘The hellcat!’ breathed Gormán, recovering his poise. He made to move towards the girl but Fidelma held up her hand to stay him.

‘Why are you so frightened, girl?’ she asked gently.

The young woman relaxed and straightened herself, but her jaw remained thrust forward combatively.

‘Who says that I am frightened?’ she demanded.

‘You do,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Otherwise you would not be behaving in this manner.’

‘Clever, aren’t you?’ was the insolent response.

‘It does not require cleverness. However, I cannot sympathise with you about the troubles that afflict you unless you tell me what they are and allow me to do so.’

The girl still stood silently defiant. Fidelma sighed. Authority was of little use unless it was freely recognised.

‘Gormán,’ she said to the young warrior. ‘Search the hut.’ Then: ‘Eadulf, pick up this woman’s knife and return it to her.’

Eadulf made to protest then went to find the knife he had removed from the girl’s grasp. He handed it to her hilt first, but warily. She snatched it from him without thanks and replaced it in the worn leather sheath that hung from the rope belt at her waist. She remained regarding Fidelma with suspicion.

There was a cry of triumph from within the hut. A moment later, Gormán emerged with a saddle-bag in one hand and a saddle and bridle in the other. He was grinning.

‘A bag of clothes.’ He held it up. ‘It seems we were right. This is the place where the assassin changed.’

Eadulf, watching the girl, saw an expression of bewilderment spread across her face.

‘Let’s examine the clothing. It might tell us something,’ Fidelma instructed. Then she paused and looked at the girl. ‘Did you know these things were in there?’

Once more the pugnacious look returned.

‘Why should I?’ she countered.

‘You were asked if you knew that they were there,’ Gormán demanded. ‘Not why you should know.’

The girl blinked at the intensity of his tone and replied sullenly, ‘No, I did not know they were there.’

‘How long have you been in the hut?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I came here just after dawn. I wanted to sleep.’

‘You were not here last night?’

‘I said as much, didn’t I?’

‘So you did. And if you came here just after dawn, where did you spend the night?’

‘I was walking, most of it,’ conceded the girl.

‘Walking through the night? Alone?’

‘Have you found anyone else with me?’ she sneered.

‘That does not prove you were walking alone during the night,’ Gormán said irritably. ‘Do you know who left this bag here?’

‘I did not even know it was in the hut. How many times must I tell you?’

‘Whether you knew or not, we have yet to discover. But you are in serious trouble.’

For the first time the girl looked uncertain. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There was an attempt on the life of the King last night. This is where the assassin sheltered. Now we find you here, and with his belongings,’ replied Gormán.

Fidelma was watching the girl’s expression closely. There was a subtle change, a hint of fear as the girl seemed to realise the seriousness of her position.

‘That is nothing to do with me. I arrived here during the morning. There was no one here.’ The words were truculent but some of her confidence had gone.

‘And your name is …?’ Fidelma asked sternly.

The girl hesitated and gave in. ‘If you must know, my name is Aibell.’

‘And where are you from?’

‘From the west.’

Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘That is a large area.’

‘I came from An Mháigh, the River of the Plain.’

‘And that is a long river,’ murmured Eadulf.

The girl glanced at him in annoyance. ‘I was born and raised by Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

Gormán’s eyebrows rose a little. ‘That is the fortress on the ridge of the Mháigh. It is the principal fortress of the princes of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘So, what of it?’

It seemed to Fidelma, watching her closely, that this Aibell was in constant battle with the world around her.

‘But the Uí Fidgente … Mungairit is not far,’ the young warrior protested.

Fidelma’s glance was expressive enough to silence him. She turned back to the girl.

‘The attempted assassination of the King is a very grave matter, Aibell. It will go better with you if you tell us the complete truth.’

‘It is the truth.’

‘So you travelled through the night — all the way from the fortress of the Uí Fidgente?’

Aibell saw Fidelma’s disbelieving look and bit her lip. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Then how … exactly?’

‘I left my father’s house there as soon as I reached the age of choice.’

‘When I asked you where you are from, I did not mean where were you born, or even where were you raised, but from whence you travelled last night.’ Fidelma spoke firmly.

‘Last night I met a merchant who was travelling here. He offered me a seat on his wagon. I accepted it.’

‘A merchant who was travelling at night?’ Gormán snorted. ‘That is unusual.’

‘He said he wanted to be at his destination by dawn.’ It was the first time Aibell had bothered to explain her short answers.

‘And where did you meet this merchant?’ Fidelma enquired.

‘I had reached the banks of a great river just west of here and had resigned myself to trying to sleep near a ford there when I saw this wagon crossing.’

‘Did you know the name of the ford?’ demanded Gormán.

‘I am a stranger here,’ she replied. ‘How would I know it?’

‘Tell us about this merchant, then. Did you find out his name?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did. It was a stupid name for a merchant — something about dignity and honour.’

Fidelma wrinkled her brow in perplexity but Gormán’s eyes widened.

‘Ordan, lady,’ he said. ‘Ordan often trades in the west. “Dignity” indeed is the meaning of his name.’

Aibell nodded confidently. ‘That was his name. Ordan. A fat, ugly man as far as I could see in the light of his lantern.’

‘He has that land just east of here, lady,’ the young warrior reminded Fidelma.

‘I know it. He calls it Rathordan.’ Fidelma turned back to the girl. ‘So you were picked up by Ordan the merchant?’

‘He offered me a seat on his cart,’ affirmed the girl. ‘He would have offered me much more had I agreed to it. He was a pig of a man!’

‘When was this? When did he pick you up?’

‘About midnight.’

‘And why did he put you off here, on the western edge of the town at dawn?’

‘Because I made him do so.’

‘Why did you not want to go into the centre of town?’

‘Because I refused to share his bed, which was his intention. As soon as I saw the outskirts of the town, I demanded that he let me off his wagon. In fact, I had to jump from it.’

Gormán was thinking carefully. ‘The road from the Ford of the Ass, which I presume must have been the ford Ordan crossed over the River Suir, runs by the far side of that field.’ He pointed to the north side of his mother’s paddock. ‘There is no other ford nearby, only the road across the bridge further to the north.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Are you trying to tell us that you came across the paddock and into this wood and found this hut purely by chance? Or did someone guide you here?’

Aibell glowered at him. ‘I did not say that I had found my way here by chance.’

‘That is true,’ said Fidelma slowly. ‘Therefore we would be interested in knowing exactly how you came here.’

‘Simple enough. I was told the hut was here.’

‘By whom?’

‘By a man going early to the fields.’

Fidelma tutted in exasperation. ‘A man who just happened to be passing in the darkness of early morning? Do you expect us to believe this?’

‘I do not expect anything. It is the truth.’

‘Why are you here, Aibell?’

The girl laughed for the first time.

‘Why should I not be here?’ she countered.

‘What are you doing in Cashel?’ Fidelma insisted.

‘Because this is where I have stopped to rest. Had I been left in peace, I would have been elsewhere when the sun reached its zenith.’

‘Brother Lennán!’ It was Eadulf who suddenly rapped out the name. ‘What is he to you?’

The girl regarded him for a moment in silence before she said, ‘I know no one of that name and am now tired of all these questions.’

‘As we are tired of asking them and receiving no convincing responses.’ Gormán was clearly irritable.

‘I can only respond as I see fit. Whether you accept my replies is no concern of mine.’

‘Oh, but it is,’ Fidelma said tightly. ‘I am afraid that you will have to come with us until we are satisfied that you are telling us the truth.’

‘Under what authority?’ challenged the girl, her truculent manner returning.

‘Under my authority as a dálaigh, under the authority of the Chief Brehon of this kingdom, under the authority of-’

Aibell interrupted with a derisive snort. Fidelma wasted no more time on her. ‘Eadulf, help me carry the things that Gormán found in the hut. Gormán, take charge of this woman. We have stood long enough in this wood. Let’s go back to Della’s place, so that we can examine what you have found in more comfortable circumstances.’

At once the girl started to protest but Gormán seized her right arm in a firm clasp.

‘By order of the King’s sister and a dálaigh of the courts, you are to accompany us until we are satisfied that you have given us a truthful account of yourself. There are two ways for you to accompany us — of your own free will or by force.’

She glared up at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare use force!’ she said. But there was no conviction in her voice.

‘Oh, but I would,’ he replied grimly. ‘And don’t try to use your knife again, because this time you will get hurt.’

They stared at each other for a moment before the girl recognised the determination in his fierce gaze and then tried to feign indifference. She fell in step beside Gormán, who kept his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Eadulf and Fidelma picked up the saddle-bag and the horse’s equipment and led the way back towards Della’s cabin. Della had seen them advancing across the paddock and came to open the gate for them. She seemed surprised to see the young woman.

‘We need to request your hospitality for a short while, Della,’ explained Fidelma.

‘Come in and be welcome, lady,’ she replied.

‘This is Aibell,’ Fidelma added, as they entered.

Eadulf left the saddle and bridle on the porch outside. They all went into the large room where crackling logs produced a fierce heat. A cauldron of aromatic-smelling stew was simmering above the fire. The morning’s autumnal sunlight shone through the southern-facing windows so that the room was bright in spite of the weakness of the pale yellow orb.

Della bade them be seated and asked if she could provide refreshment. Fidelma had spotted the girl’s eyes lingering on the cauldron and saw the quick, nervous movement of her tongue over her dry lips.

‘I should imagine that Aibell has not yet broken her fast. I am sure she would like something to drink and eat, if you can manage it.’

‘Of course!’ At once Della became almost a mothering figure, making sure the girl was comfortably seated at one end of the table and fetching a small mug of ale and a wooden platter containing some cold meat and cheese with a hunk of freshly baked bread. The girl hesitated at first, but as Della turned to enquire if anyone else wanted refreshment, she immediately began to tackle the food. Although Fidelma appeared to be ignoring her, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aibell was consuming the food as if she had not eaten for many days. She hoped that none of her companions were watching the girl so as not to embarrass her.

‘First we need to examine the contents of this saddle-bag,’ Fidelma announced as a way of distracting them.

Eadulf opened it and took out the garments inside, placing them one by one on the table for everyone to see.

There was a bratt, a cloak of a striking blue colour that would stretch to the knees of an average-sized person. It was loosely shaped and had a fringe of beaver fur around the neck and down both edges in front. There was an over-garment, a coat without a collar, ending about the middle of the thighs, and a pair of triubhas, sometimes called ochrath — tight-fitting breeches made of thin, soft leather, which were drawn on over the feet. The criss or leather belt had a purse attached to it, containing some silver.

Eadulf examined the bag and the clothing to make sure there was nothing hidden inside. Having satisfied himself, he turned to Fidelma and said, ‘There is nothing here that would give us a clue to the assassin’s identity.’

‘What of the clothes themselves?’

Eadulf lifted them each in turn. ‘They are not the kind of clothing worn by a noble; that is for sure. But then neither are they the apparel of a poor man or a labourer.’

‘That is true.’ Fidelma was approving. ‘However, these must be the clothes that our assassin changed out of when he put on religieux robes.’

‘That would be supported by the fact that there are no shoes here — but our assassin was wearing the sort of footwear that could go with such clothing. There is no underwear here either, but our assassin was wearing a shirt of sróll or satin which is more likely to go with these clothes than those of a poor religieux.’

‘You seem certain then that the clothes are those of the assassin?’ Gormán asked.

‘The clothes fit the pattern,’ said Eadulf. ‘He’s not a noble or a warrior, nor one pursuing a physical trade or an artisan … They confirm what I said when I examined the corpse.’

‘What about the tonsure?’ demanded Gormán.

‘As Fidelma observed, the assassin seemed to have shaved his tonsure recently,’ Eadulf said. ‘He disguised himself as a religieux deliberately. I stick to my opinion that he was a poet, a copyist or illustrator.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Last night, we saw that the assassin’s hands showed that he did not do physical work. The fingernails were well cared for. However, his right-hand thumb and forefinger were stained.’

‘And that indicated?’

‘They were stained by ink, which meant that he often had a quill in his right hand. Who works with a quill and ink if they are not scholars? He could have come from an ecclesiastical college or even from one of the secular schools, but I believe he was not a religieux.’

Gormán was staring at the clothing moodily as if he were trying to gather more evidence from them. Then he suddenly gave a soft exclamation and picked up the saddle-bag, turning the leather over to examine it more closely.

‘It’s just a plain leather saddle-bag, Gormán, my friend,’ Eadulf commented. ‘Good quality and well-stitched, but-’

He was interrupted by a grunt of satisfaction from the young warrior, who had turned over one of the flaps and pointed to something underneath.

‘The leather has been marked — seared by a hot needle. See.’ He held it out for inspection.

Fidelma took the bag from him and peered closely. ‘A serpent entwined around a sword. Why, that is the mark of …’

‘… the Uí Fidgente’s princes,’ Gormán finished with emphasis.

Fidelma turned to where Aibell was finishing her meal.

‘When did you leave Dún Eochair Mháigh?’

‘I told you, as soon as I reached the age of choice. Four years ago.’

‘So you are now eighteen? And where have you been since then?’

Once again, the girl showed reluctance in answering, but seeing the frown gathering on Fidelma’s brow, she changed her mind.

‘I was a long time in the country of the Luachra.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘I served in the household of Fidaig.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘Fidaig, the lord of the Luachra?’

‘Yes. I worked in the kitchens of his household.’

‘And why did you leave?’

‘If you must know, I ran away,’ the girl replied defiantly. ‘I was sold to him as a bondservant and I ran away.’

Fidelma’s brows rose in astonishment. ‘You said you were born and raised at the capital of the Uí Fidgente. Who was your father?’

‘He was a fisherman, an iascaire, on the River Mháigh.’

‘Of what class was he?’

‘He was a saer-céile, a free-tenant, who rented his cabin and stretch of the river from a prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘So what do you mean when you say that you were sold to the Luachra? Why would a free man of the Uí Fidgente allow his daughter to be sold to a neighbouring tribe?’

‘My father declared me to be a daer-fudir and sold me.’

Fidelma breathed out sharply. Daer-fudirs were the lowest members of society, mainly criminals who had refused to meet their fines and pay compensation, or captives taken in battle. In other words, they were slaves — often foreign — people who had fallen foul of the law and were unable to extricate themselves. However, the fate of these slaves was not hopeless, for the law favoured their emancipation — and with diligence and perseverance they could raise their status and even come to be a free person in the clan.

‘How would you become a daer-fudir?’

‘My father sold me, to pay his debts.’

‘But that is illegal!’ exclaimed Fidelma.

‘My father was a beast.’

‘And your father’s name was …?’

‘Escmug.’

‘A name well-suited for a fisherman,’ muttered Gormán. The name meant ‘eel’.

‘He was a beast,’ repeated the girl. She looked directly at Fidelma and said: ‘At first I was not sorry to escape from my father. If you are as knowledgeable as you seem, then he was similar to Oengus Tuirbech in the stories told about him around the winter fireside.’

Eadulf noticed that this meant as much to Gormán as it did to himself, because the young warrior was also looking puzzled. However, Fidelma appeared shocked by what she had heard.

‘Then you have led a sorrowful life, Aibell,’ she said. ‘Now I begin to understand your bitterness.’

‘Never!’ The word came out like the crack of a whip. ‘No one will ever be able to understand me, to understand what I have had to endure. But I will do so no more. If you try to send me back, I shall resist.’

‘You shall not be sent back. If you were at the age of choice when you were sold, then your father was contravening the law in selling you as much as Fidaig was in buying you. Both will answer to the law. I promise this.’

The girl sniffed; scepticism was clearly on her features.

‘My father is dead and who is going to punish Fidaig? He is powerful and rules the mountains of Sliabh Luachra.’

It was Della who intervened. ‘Young girl, I do not know your troubles but I will tell you this — when the lady Fidelma says that something will be done, then it will be done.’ Her voice was vehement and, for a moment, seemed to impress Aibell. Then the girl turned away with a defensive movement of her shoulders.

Fidelma glanced at Gormán. ‘Keep an eye on our young friend here,’ she said quietly before turning to Eadulf. ‘Eadulf, come with me to the paddock. I want your advice.’

Eadulf was about to comment when he saw her expression and so followed her without demur. They walked slowly down to the paddock gate.

‘What is it?’ he asked, when they stopped. They both leaned on the wooden bar of the gate watching the two horses that still stood grazing contentedly in the field.

‘This is perplexing,’ she sighed.

Eadulf grinned. ‘It is not often that you admit to being perplexed about anything.’

Fidelma said, ‘Well, I am now. When we found this girl, I thought we would be reaching a rapid conclusion in this matter.’

‘I am not so sure that we have not,’ replied Eadulf. ‘We know the assassin came here on horseback. He arrived, put some narcotic on the meat for Della’s dog so it wouldn’t cause an alarm, and thus was able to place his horse in Della’s paddock. Then he changed into the guise of a religieux from Mungairit, leaving his clothes in the woodman’s shed, and came to the palace. His saddle-bag is branded with the symbol of the Uí Fidgente, not just any of that clan but the mark of the princely family itself. The Eóghanacht and Uí Fidgente have been blood enemies for generations … you know well enough that if there is any rebellion in the kingdom, the Uí Fidgente are usually behind it.’

‘Not always,’ objected Fidelma. ‘Not since my brother defeated them at Cnoc Áine.’

Years before, Colgú had crushed a rebellion mounted by Eoghanán, the prince of the Uí Fidgente, on the slopes of Cnoc Áine. Eoghanán’s warlike sons, Torcán and Lorcán, also met their death during the same conspiracy. And when the princedom of the Uí Fidgente passed to Donennach, son of Oengus, he had agreed a peace with Cashel; since when an unsettled calm had been maintained over the kingdom.

The cause of the friction was thus: the Uí Fidgente had long insisted that they should be in the line of the rightful rulers of the kingdom and not just the Eóghanacht, the descendants of Eóghan Mór. They claimed to be descended from Cormac Cass, the elder brother of Eóghan Mór, and sometimes called themselves the Dál gCais, descendants of Cass. But outside of their own lands, they found little support for the claim.

‘True, your brother defeated the Uí Fidgente and that could be the reason behind this attack. The assassin could have come to enact vengeance on him for defeating them in battle. Their capital is Dún Eochair Mháigh where this girl says she came from. We find her sheltering in the very hut the assassin used. She is truculent and uncooperative. What more is needed to make the connection?’

Fidelma was looking unconvinced. ‘These things make sense only superficially.’

‘Superficially?’

‘Your arguments are correct, Eadulf. But they need to be tied together by logic.’

‘I thought the logic was clear.’

‘Let us put ourselves in the place of this assassin. He has come to take revenge on my brother for some crime. We think it is something to do with a woman called Liamuin — a name that means nothing to Colgú, incidentally. The assassin appears to be a scholar rather than a warrior.’

‘Agreed.’

‘We presume that he arrives unseen on the outskirts of Cashel. Why does he come to this spot? Darkness must have fallen for it does so early at this time of year. Yet he is able to have a potent mixture at hand, ready to smear on a joint of meat to send Della’s dog to sleep. How does he even know that Della has a dog? He then unsaddles his horse and leaves it in her paddock, even though the horse is bound to be noticed, come daylight. Then he is able to find his way to that hut in the forest, which even I did not know existed, and changes his clothes to assume the guise of a religieux. He waits until the rainstorm is over and enters the palace on the pretext that he has an urgent message from the Abbey of Mungairit; once inside, he makes his attempt on my brother’s life.’

‘When you put it that way, it does throw up several questions,’ Eadulf said. ‘They could be answered by the fact that perhaps he had been here before and thus was no stranger to this area. Could that be why he was able to feed the dog with the tainted meat without the animal causing an outcry?’

‘But why go to all that bother? Why not just take his horse into the woods and leave it there?’

‘Perhaps the man cared about his animal and didn’t want any harm to befall it. There are wolves and boars that roam the woods around here,’ Eadulf replied.

Fidelma shook her head. ‘There are too many oddities that need answers.’

‘I think it is more than mere coincidence that we found the girl in the same hut the assassin chose,’ Eadulf said firmly.

‘Yet she has told us enough to find proof how she came there. We will have to ride out to Ordan’s place and question him, and we must make enquiries about the man she encountered who told her where the hut was. There will not be too many men on their way to the fields at that hour at this time of year.’

‘Perhaps she thought that we would simply take her word for that?’ Eadulf said.

‘Perhaps, but I do not think she is so naïve — not if her experience of life is as she says. We will take her up to the palace and keep her in safe custody while this investigation is going on.’

‘Do you really think that her story has merit? I mean, can you believe that her own father would sell her to this chieftain …’

‘Fidaig of Sliabh Luachra? Such things, while against the law, are not unknown, I’m afraid. Sliabh Luachra is a strange, brooding place. It’s the Mountains of Rushes — a marshy area among the mountains for it is not just one mountain. You may have seen the twin peaks from a distance on your journeys to the west. Those peaks mark the southern extremities of Luachra territory. They are called the Breasts of Danu, she who was the ancient mother goddess of our people before the new Faith came to us.’

Eadulf suppressed a slight shiver.

‘I have seen them when I passed near those mountains tracking down Uaman, Lord of the Passes of Sliabh Mis, when he kidnapped little Alchú. I remember how a local inn-keeper told me that the ancient gods and goddesses still dwell among the marshes up there.’

‘Indeed. I have passed through the territory only once and had to spend a night in a small glen called the Glen of Ravens, where it was said the ancient goddesses of death and battle dwelled. It is not a place to stay if one is of a nervous disposition.’

‘We certainly seem to have avoided it in our travels,’ observed Eadulf, ‘and we have been to most other places in this kingdom. What of this chieftain, Fidaig?’

‘I know of him as a profane and evil man. He once came to Cashel to pay his respects to the King at the time of our wedding feast. You probably don’t remember him.’

‘As I recall, there was a great deal happening at the time,’ replied Eadulf dryly. ‘Among other distractions there was the murder of Abbot Ultán. However, when Colgú defeated the Uí Fidgente at Cnoc Áine, I presume that Fidaig was their ally?’

‘Curiously, he was not, although I heard that the Luachra had a small band that fought there, commanded by a son of Fidaig. Fidaig claimed that they had mustered without his consent and therefore he was not responsible.’

‘To my mind, it seems that the girl is connected in this,’ Eadulf repeated.

‘But would she have been that forthcoming about being a bondservant in the household of the Luachra chieftain if there was such a conspiracy and she was part of it?’

‘It is the only explanation I can see. But that reminds me — what did she mean when she said that her father was like Oenghus Tuirbech? You seemed to understand, but I do not think Gormán or Della did. I certainly did not.’

Fidelma’s expression was serious. ‘Oenghus Tuirbech was supposed to be an ancient King descended from the race of Eremon. He was called Oenghus the Shameful because he forced his own daughter to go to bed with him and begat a son called Fiachaidh Fear Mara. Oenghus had him put into a canoe and pushed out to sea because he could then claim that his son’s blood was not on his hands.’

For a few moments Eadulf stood frowning at her and then he realised what she was saying.

‘So she meant that her father …?’

Fidelma sighed deeply, cutting him off and saying, ‘Let us get back to the others. We will have to keep the girl at the palace while we go to see Ordan and check out her story. Perhaps we can also verify the matter of the man going to the fields who told her where the hut is.’

Eadulf suddenly looked nervous. ‘We did promise little Alchú to take him riding.’

Fidelma was about to make an exasperated retort when she suddenly relaxed, saying, ‘The rath of Ordan is not so far distant. Our son can ride with us when we go to see the merchant.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ replied Eadulf with relief. ‘I would not like him to be disappointed again.’

Fidelma glanced sharply at him: was there a hidden criticism in his tone? Then she decided to let the matter pass. Eadulf was touching a tender spot because the life the couple had led since little Alchú had been born was such that the boy had been well-nigh neglected by them. Had it not been for Muirgen, whom Fidelma had appointed as nurse to the boy and, indeed, foster-mother, she did not know how they would have managed.

Fidelma led the way back into Della’s cabin. Gormán looked up in relief as they entered. The girl was sitting in brooding silence while Della was washing dishes. It turned out that she had tried to engage the girl in conversation a few times but without success.

‘What now, lady?’ asked the young warrior, rising from his seat.

‘Now we shall return to the palace. I must learn if there is further word of my brother’s condition and then we will continue our enquiries. Thank you, Della, for your hospitality. I will ask our táisech scuir, our master of the stables, to send one of his lads to remove the horse and the responsibility of feeding it from you.’

‘Thank you, lady. Did you find the answer to what it was that you sought?’

As Fidelma shook her head, Eadulf added: ‘We are as much in the dark about the identity of Liamuin as we were before.’

The reaction was unexpected.

‘Liamuin?’ The cry came from the girl. She had sprung from her seat, arms akimbo, body tense, and was staring at them with wide-eyed hatred. Her voice rose to the edge of hysteria. ‘Then you knew? All along, you have known. How did you know? How did you know?’