Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER FOUR

They stood astounded at the girl’s outburst. Then Fidelma took charge.

‘Tell us what you know of Liamuin,’ she instructed.

Aibell was trembling uncontrollably so Della went to get a beaker of corma and motioned her to sit down again. She cast a reproving look at Fidelma before turning back to the girl. It was some time before Aibell was calm.

‘There, my dear, take your own time and answer lady Fidelma’s question,’ Della said comfortingly. ‘No harm is going to come to you.’

‘Tell us what you know of Liamuin,’ Fidelma said again.

‘If you know the name of Liamuin, then you will know that she was my mother,’ Aibell replied tightly.

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a surprised glance. Fidelma lowered herself onto a chair opposite the girl.

‘Liamuin was the wife of Escmug, your father?’

The girl sniffed sourly. ‘What do you know of my mother?’ she grunted.

‘Nothing unless you tell us,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Does she still live?’

For a moment Aibell hesitated before saying: ‘I do not know.’

‘That needs an explanation,’ Fidelma commented, surprised by the girl’s answer.

Aibell gave a sharp laugh. ‘You mean, how do I not know whether she is alive or dead? The answer is simple. It was just after I reached the age of choice. I had been working in the fields and came home to find that my mother had vanished. Later, when my father returned from his fishing, she still had not returned. She never returned.’

‘And from that day to this, you do not know what happened to her?’

‘I think she could no longer stand the beatings my father gave her when he was drunk. I think she ran away.’

‘And left you behind?’ Fidelma’s tone was slightly incredulous. ‘She left you behind without protection and knowing the man he was?’

Aibell shrugged but made no reply.

‘You say this was just after you reached the age of choice?’

‘I remember the very day, for it was on the next day that we heard the news of the great defeat of Prince Eoganán at Cnoc Áine.’

‘The victory of King Colgú over the Uí Fidgente uprising,’ muttered Gormán in correction.

‘Was any search made for your mother? What about her relatives?’ asked Fidelma hurriedly, before the girl could respond to Gormán.

‘My father was angry that she was gone. He went to bó-aire, the local magistrate, but nothing was done. I think my mother had a brother but no one was allowed to speak about him because my father hated him. I do not even know his name. There was also another relative who owned a mill some distance from us. One day, my father came home and told me to get my things together. He said that we were going to see my mother.’

‘So what happened? You told us that you had not seen her again after she left.’

‘My father lied. We travelled south for a while, towards the mountains of Sliabh Luachra. Then we met a band of people and my father handed me over to them. They gave him money … he sold me!’

The girl’s voice had faltered.

‘And you were forced to go with these people?’ Fidelma asked in a gentle tone.

‘They were Luachra. I remained a bondservant with them until a week or so ago, when I was able to seize the opportunity to escape.’

‘Where were you heading?’

‘Anywhere to the east, as far away as I could get. I now suspect that my father killed my mother on the day she disappeared and that his anger was merely a sham.’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Eadulf.

‘When I was packing my things, I went to get something I had left in one of the outhouses and found some bloodstained clothes. The significance of them did not strike me until the long years when I brooded over my mother’s disappearance.’

‘What motive would your father have to kill his own wife?’ Eadulf asked.

‘Motive enough. I have told you that my father was colach,’ she spat the word. Eadulf had to search his acquired vocabulary before realising it meant an act of sexual corruption; a term for abuse. ‘My mother had realised what he was doing to me. She tried to protect me when she was there, but he beat her. I think she finally ran away and abandoned me to him. Or, as I now believe, he had found her and killed her.’

‘Tell me, Aibell, did your mother have any links with Cashel?’

The girl frowned. ‘I do not understand what you mean.’

‘Did she ever say anything to you about my brother, King Colgú?’

‘Why should she? I have told you that we were a poor family. My mother’s father went into an abbey when his wife died. My father was, as I have said, a fisherman. We had nothing to do with nobles.’

‘But you dwelled not far from the fortress of the princes of the Uí Fidgente. Did your father take part in the uprising led by Prince Eoganán?’

‘My father was too much of a coward to do that. No, he stayed safe on the river.’

Fidelma paused for a moment in thought. ‘Answer me this, then, Aibell. Why would the man who attempted to assassinate my brother cry out, as the knife descended, “Remember Liamuin!”’

‘I have no idea,’ the girl said dully. ‘Why do you suppose this Liamuin would be my mother?’

‘It is not a common name,’ Gormán interposed harshly. ‘And it seems extraordinary for you to appear in Cashel on the same night as someone attempts to assassinate the King, shouting that name. Further, we find you in the very same hut where the assassin had left his clothes and saddle.’

‘So far as I know, my mother ran away from my father four years ago and I was sold to the Luachra. I have nothing to do with Cashel.’

Fidelma let out a soft breath of resignation. ‘You will have to come to the palace and view the body of the assassin. Perhaps you will be able to recognise him.’

Fidelma watched the girl’s features carefully as Eadulf removed the covering sheet from the corpse. There was no sign of any recognition at all, and after Aibell had shaken her head to the unasked question, Fidelma accompanied her from the chapel.

‘I am afraid you must stay as our guest until we find out a little more about your arrival in Cashel at this particular time,’ Fidelma advised Aibell. To her surprise, the girl made no protest but was looking intently at the great buildings of the palace, obviously impressed. Fidelma led her across the courtyard in search of the matronly Dar Luga who served as the airnbertach or housekeeper of the palace. Her role, of course, was different from that of the steward, Beccan, for she attended to the more domestic chores of the King’s household, and saw to the comfort of the guests as well as the King’s family.

Fidelma caught sight of Caol emerging from a side door and hailed him, saying, ‘Have you seen Dar Luga?’

Caol swung round. ‘She’s in …’ He stopped and regarded the young girl at her side with a puzzled look.

‘This is a new guest,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Her name is Aibell. She will be staying with us for a while.’

It seemed that the commander of the guard had difficulty dragging his eyes away from the attractive, dark-haired girl.

‘You were saying?’ Fidelma went on.

‘Oh yes — Dar Luga? You will find her beyond that door.’ He pointed. As they moved away, Fidelma was aware of Caol staring after them.

She made sure that Dar Luga understood that Aibell was to be treated with courtesy as a guest, but was not allowed to leave the palace, unless such instruction was given by Fidelma. Leaving the girl in the care of the housekeeper, Fidelma then went to see old Brother Conchobhar the apothecary. Eadulf, meanwhile, had gone to prepare Alchú for his promised horse-ride. Gormán had been asked to ensure that their mounts were ready and had agreed to accompany them.

Brother Conchobhar greeted Fidelma with a smile, but told her: ‘There is little change from when you saw him this morning, Fidelma.’

‘When will we know that he is out of danger?’ Her voice was anxious.

‘With such a wound, we can never be certain. At least it was a single stab wound, but the knife went in deep. It would have been worse had not poor Brehon Áedo thrown himself across the body of the King, and had not Caol despatched the assassin before he could do further damage.’

‘You will keep me informed?’

‘Naturally.’ As she made to go he added: ‘I heard that you have brought back a prisoner to the palace.’

‘You have eyes and ears everywhere,’ she replied, turning back to the old apothecary with curiosity. ‘I am only returned a short while ago. How did you hear this?’

Brother Conchobhar chuckled. ‘I would be a poor servant, having served the Eóghanacht in this palace since the days of King Cathal son of Áedo Flainn, if I did not hear what happens in any part of the palace. Even a thought articulated in the stable will not escape my attention. Do you say that this girl is part of the assassin’s conspiracy?’

‘I have no idea, old friend,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I feel there is some connection that I cannot understand. All I know is that her mother’s name was Liamuin …’

Brother Conchobhar’s eyes widened. ‘Now that is interesting.’

‘But this Liamuin disappeared years ago. The girl claims she does not know what became of her, but suspects her father killed her. She was the wife of a river fisherman. How could that Liamuin have any connection with my brother?’

‘That is even more interesting,’ confirmed the old apothecary. ‘You will have to delve further into this matter, that is for sure. Is the girl from a far distance?’

‘She is of the Uí Fidgente,’ Fidelma told him. ‘Her father was a fisherman as I have said, on the River Mháigh just by the principal fortress of the prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘Ah,’ the old man’s voice was soft. ‘Then you must avoid springing to conclusions, however logical. Be careful that she is not condemned for the one fact of her mother’s name.’

‘Don’t worry. Anyway, she is here in the palace as a guest. She is not confined within her chamber but I have asked Dar Luga to place a restriction on her freedom. She cannot leave the palace and is not to approach the King’s chambers. As you say, there are aspects of her explanation as to why she came to Cashel that must be carefully checked.’ Fidelma sighed. ‘Don’t forget to let me know if there is any change with my brother.’

As Eadulf had entered their chambers, he found Alchú sitting on a chair while Muirgen the nurse was pointing out various objects in the room and getting the child to name them. As soon as the boy spotted his father, he jumped up and ran towards him with outstretched arms. Eadulf scooped him up and twirled him round, which caused the child to gurgle happily.

‘When are we going riding, Father?’ the boy demanded, after his fit of giggling abated.

‘Very shortly,’ Eadulf assured him. ‘As soon as your mother returns from seeing her brother.’

‘King Am-Nar?’ queried the little boy.

Eadulf chuckled. Alchú had managed to understand that Colgú was ‘king’ and that Colgú was his mother’s brother, his uncle. The word for a maternal uncle was amnair and this was as close as he could come to naming his uncle.

‘Is King Am-Nar very ill, Father?’

‘He is not well, son,’ Eadulf prevaricated.

‘Will he die?’ the boy asked.

Eadulf set him down and took a chair. ‘All things have to die sometime.’

‘The cat died last week,’ the boy told him. ‘Mother said it was old. Is King Am-Nar old?’

Muirgen cast a meaningful glance at Eadulf. It was obvious that she thought such subjects should be avoided with such a young child. Eadulf suppressed a sigh.

‘I heard you showing your knowledge of objects when I came into the room, Alchú.’

The little boy pouted. ‘Oh, that is all easy stuff. Table, chair, cupboard … I can do other things. Listen, Father, I am counting in the language!’

Eadulf smiled to himself. Alchú always called Eadulf’s own language ‘the language’, berla, to differentiate it from Fidelma’s Irish, which was the language of every day and with which he was surrounded.

‘Go on then, son,’ Eadulf encouraged.

‘An, twegan, thrie, feower, fif, six, seofon …’ The boy paused. For an instant, Eadulf was going to make the mistake of helping him but, after a moment, he added, with a broad smile of triumph: ‘Eachta, nigon, tiene.’

‘Well done.’ Eadulf clapped his hands. ‘You will soon be able to converse fluently.’

Muirgen sniffed in disapproval. ‘I don’t see the sense in stuffing the boy’s head with that nonsense,’ she said. ‘What avail is this Saxon gibberish when you are trying to buy cattle in Cashel market?’

Eadulf said sadly, ‘I swear, Muirgen, you must broaden your mind a little. To speak other languages is a great asset. Besides, it is the language of my people — the Angles.’

‘It’s all right for you, Brother Eadulf, but you no longer live in the land of the Angles. The boy lives here and it will not help him. Surely, there is no room for a child’s mind to be filled with something that will stop him learning his own language properly. He’ll be mixing things up next, not knowing what words to speak. Too much learning damages the mind.’

Eadulf chuckled. ‘Do you suggest that my mind is damaged or, indeed, that the lady Fidelma’s mind is damaged?’

Muirgen flushed. ‘I have suggested no such thing at all,’ she bridled.

‘But the lady Fidelma speaks her own language; she also speaks Latin, Greek and also some Hebrew — the three languages of the Faith. She even speaks my own language, which gives her some knowledge of that of the Franks and, indeed, she has knowledge of the language of the Britons. According to your philosophy, she should be unable to absorb these languages for they would damage her understanding.’

‘The lady Fidelma is a wise and an exceptional person,’ replied Muirgen undeterred. ‘But have not the priests warned us of the confusion of the Tower of Babel? They say it is God’s will that we should all speak one language, but that it was the Devil who made us speak many tongues.’

‘Now I heard a similar story,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘In that version it was God Himself who scattered the language of Babel to the four corners of the earth to create many languages.’

‘That is not what the priest told me, Brother Eadulf. He said that after the dispersal of the language it was our great King Fenius Farsaid who sent scholars to the four corners of the earth and, with God’s blessing, they gathered a knowledge of the seventy-two languages that had come from the dispersal and had then put together the best of each of them, trying to recover the one true language. And they did so and the language was called after Fenius’ fosterling Gaedheal Glas, and that is why our language is called after Gaedheal for he brought the language to this country.’

‘So what language did God mean us to speak, Muirgen?’ Eadulf tried to sound solemn but he knew laughter was not far away.

Muirgen saw his expression and flounced off in annoyance. At once Eadulf felt contrite. He realised that he should have known better than to make sport of other people’s beliefs and he called her back with an apology.

‘I meant no disrespect to you, Muirgen. All I say is that, in place of a common language, the more languages we can absorb the more we can understand and communicate, especially with our neighbours. I believe it will be a sad day when languages are destroyed because we do not appreciate them. Why, just think what would be lost if, in the fullness of time, the very language of the Kings of Éireann is destroyed and its culture lost?’

Muirgen turned with a laugh. ‘Now you are making fun, Brother Eadulf. Sooner will the mountains disappear than that will ever happen. But I will allow that Alchú, if his mother so wills it, may speak what languages he likes. That is because the lady Fidelma is a noble, the sister of a king and a descendant of kings,’ the woman said, as if that was the explanation.

‘And is not Alchú my son as well?’ Eadulf found a note of hurt creeping into his voice. He felt guilty once more for snapping at the woman, for she was a simple soul and did not mean to rouse his insecurity. Under the law of the country he had been classed as a cú glas, literally a ‘grey fox’, which meant an exile from over the seas without any rights and no honour price. On his marriage to Fidelma, her family had acknowledged him and he was elevated to the status of deorad Dé, exile of God. He therefore was bestowed with half the honour price of Fidelma’s rank, but without the rights or responsibility for rearing his own children. It was Fidelma who had the final say in such matters. But Muirgen would not, perhaps, have known this. She would not have questioned him on that account. Nevertheless, it was often difficult for Eadulf, as a foreigner in this land, to feel totally secure.

He was about to frame another apology when the door opened and Fidelma herself came in.

‘Are you ready, both of you?’ she asked brightly.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ cried the child. ‘Are we going riding? Are we?’

‘Yes, we are,’ answered Fidelma. She fussed over the boy, making sure he had the right clothes and cloak and then she and Eadulf led their son down to the courtyard.

Gormán was already there with the horses. There was a small piebald pony for Alchú, and Eadulf’s roan-coloured cob, which he had actually come to enjoy riding, though still admitting that he was not a good rider. Fidelma preferred her short-necked, ancient breed from Gaul, which she called Aonbharr, the ‘supreme one’, after the horse ridden by the Ocean God, Mannanán Mac Lir. Gormán was accompanying them on his cob.

‘Where are we off to?’ asked the boy again. He sat on his pony with ease and without fear, much to Eadulf’s quiet admiration.

‘We are going eastward a little way, towards a place called the rath of Ordan,’ Fidelma replied with a smile.

‘What’s a rath?’

‘It can be many things. It can be goods, chattels, property that is given as surety in law …’

The boy looked blank and Fidelma realised that the lawyer in her was speaking. It was Gormán who explained.

‘A rath is also the ramparts that surround a chieftain’s residence; it can be his fortress.’

‘Oh.’ Alchú was excited. ‘Are we going to see a fortress?’

‘Except Rathordan is no fortress,’ muttered Gormán. ‘It is just a pretend chieftain’s residence, for Ordan is certainly no chief.’

Alchú either didn’t hear or had lost interest as he guided his little mount out of the courtyard between his parents on their horses. Gormán brought up the rear.

They had descended from the Rock to the road that led towards the eastern hills when they saw a man walking up in the direction of the palace. He was elderly and dressed in clothes that easily identified him as a shepherd. It was Muirgen’s husband.

‘Hello, Nessán,’ called Fidelma.

Little Alchú smiled broadly and waved a tiny hand, ‘Nees-awn, Nees-awn!’ he chanted.

The shepherd touched his forehead nervously at the party. He always appeared uneasy in the presence of Fidelma and Eadulf even though his wife was nurse to young Alchú. He could never forget that when the boy had been kidnapped as a baby, he and his wife had been given the child to raise as a shepherd by the kidnapper, the evil Uaman, lord of the Passes. The motive of the kidnap was vengeance. Nessán and Muirgen were to have taken in and hidden the child without them knowing whose son he really was. Fidelma and Eadulf had tracked down their son and, instead of punishing the elderly couple for their unwitting role, they had invited Muirgen to be Alchú’s nurse at Cashel while her husband had been employed to look after Colgú’s sheep.

Nessán cleared his throat. ‘There is great sorrow on me at the news of the attack on your brother, lady. Is there better news of his health?’

‘He is doing as well as can be expected.’

‘He is in my prayers, lady.’

‘Thank you, Nessán. It is good that we should meet you on this road. Perhaps you can help us?’

‘If I can, lady.’

‘Were you abroad early this morning?’

‘As you know, I attend your brother’s sheep in the northern rough pasture, behind the Rock. But I was up late last night, lady. I am afraid I went to Rumann’s tavern in the town and so it was after dawn that I left to tend the sheep today.’

‘At An Screagán — I know the place.’ Fidelma was disappointed because Della’s homestead lay on the other side of the township. Then a further thought occurred. ‘Do you know any of the other shepherds around the township? Those that pasture their flocks to the west of the town?’

‘I dare say, lady. I meet with them on lambing days and when the time comes to shear the flocks. And when there is no work in common, we gather in Rumann’s inn.’

‘Do you know anyone who would be going to the fields to the west, just beyond Della’s homestead, very early this morning? You see, I am trying to find a man, a shepherd, who was abroad before dawn and said he was going to tend his sheep. Would you know who that was?’

The shepherd replied almost at once.

‘Well, that might be Spelán. Doesn’t he have a flock along the road of rocks to the west of her place? I met him in the tavern only last night, and he was complaining about trouble with one of his ewes. That might have caused him to stir early this morning. He was truly concerned.’

‘Spelán, I don’t think I know him.’ Fidelma glanced at Gormán, and the young warrior nodded quickly.

‘I know the man,’ he said, ‘and if he is not up with his flocks, then he may well be found in Rumann’s tavern. It is a favourite place of the shepherds here.’

With a wave of farewell towards Nessán, Fidelma indicated that they should ride on.

The rath of Ordan was certainly no rath, as Gormán had foretold. The attempt to construct ramparts was no more than a ditch which would scarcely keep livestock in. However, the gate to the homestead was more substantial. It consisted of two stone pillars through which one passed into a large yard before coming to the single-storey house of stone. On top of each pillar were geese carved with beak and wings extended as if threatening the visitors — an odd symbolism for a merchant, thought Eadulf. Indeed, the building beyond seemed full of the owner’s aristocratic pretensions but did not quite measure up to the houses of nobles that Eadulf had seen throughout the country. To one side of the complex were a number of large sheds where the merchant presumably stored his goods, and outside these were two large wagons. To the other side were some buildings that showed that Ordan was self-sufficient in livestock, with pigs and some milch cows in a fenced area.

Three or four people were moving about, pursuing various tasks. One of them, having spotted their arrival, had run to the house, doubtless to inform his master of the arrival of guests.

A moment later, a man emerged through the door, crossing the porch to meet them as they halted in front of the building. He was balding, of stout proportions running to fat, his eyes almost buried in his moon face. His lips were thick, and even when closed presented an ugly shape, and his skin was pale, where it was not blotched with unhealthy pink on his fleshy cheeks. His clothes were certainly of fine quality but hung on his ill-shapen figure without disguising it. He was rubbing his pudgy hands together as he approached and bowing rapidly from his neck.

‘Lady Fidelma! Brother Eadulf! I am honoured, extremely honoured that you have come to my humble house. You are most welcome.’

Little Alchú, seated on his pony now behind Eadulf, with Gormán at his side, spoke up clearly.

‘Who is the ugly fat man, Mother?’

Fidelma’s mouth tightened to hide the smile that twitched at the corner. Ordan wheezed as he forced what passed for a laugh.

‘The little prince is not shy in stating his mind.’

‘Would that all people were as forthright in their opinions,’ muttered Eadulf piously.

‘Come in, come in. My steward will attend to your horses.’

‘We were just passing,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘So we will remain seated and not trespass on your hospitality. It was only a brief question.’

Ordan looked disappointed. He had already been mentally building the story of how the sister of the King had visited him and taken his refreshment.

‘As you wish, lady. But my humble house is your house and you have but to ask.’ As he spoke, he kept bowing and they found it distracting.

‘Why is that man doing that?’ Alchú piped up. ‘He’s very funny.’

Fidelma caught Gormán’s eye. ‘Take Alchú to show him the animals,’ she instructed. ‘Go with Gormán, Alchú, and when you come back you can tell me what animals you have seen.’

She and Eadulf waited until Gormán led the boy’s pony towards the barns.

Ordan was waiting, his hands still clasped together in front of him.

‘I am told that you have been away and only returned here last night,’ Fidelma began.

Ordan nodded, but he suddenly seemed uneasy. His eyes narrowed, if such a thing could be possible in his plump features. ‘And, indeed, on my return I heard the terrible news of the attempt on the life of your brother,’ he said unctuously. ‘May the devil take the soul of the assassin. I was told that Brehon Áedo, who was my very good friend, was slain but that the King, God be merciful, has survived. How is your brother, lady? Does he fare well?’

‘He fares well enough.’ Fidelma almost snapped the words to quieten the flow of honeyed tones of the merchant. ‘It appears that you had a passenger on your wagon on your return.’

Ordan blinked rapidly. ‘What has that girl been saying about me?’ he asked nervously.

‘Should she have been saying anything?’ Fidelma asked innocently.

‘Of course not. It’s just …’ The merchant seemed uncomfortable and then closed his mouth.

‘I believe you arrived in Cashel in the hours before dawn?’

‘I did so, and have barely slept since my arrival for I promised to meet a smithy from Magh Méine to do some trade with him. At first I thought it was he who was arriving when I was told you were here.’

‘What I want to know is about your passenger,’ cut in Fidelma, holding up her hand to stem his outpouring.

The pudgy-faced man scowled. ‘Is she making a complaint about me? I swear I gave her a lift for charity’s sake. She was full of bile, that one. She even threatened me with a knife. I was well rid of her when I made her get down on the edge of town. I cursed the goodness in me that prompted me to give her passage on my wagon.’

‘I want to know where you found her,’ Fidelma said.

The merchant raised his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Found her? More like she found me and thought I was a generous soul whom she could beguile …’

‘Where did you meet her and when?’ It was Eadulf who snapped the question.

Once more Ordan blinked. ‘It was at the Ford of the Ass, on the River Suir, Brother.’

Fidelma nodded at the confirmation of their deduction. ‘So that would have been around midnight or just afterwards?’

‘It would, lady,’ confirmed Ordan.

‘Why were you so late abroad? Is it not dangerous for a merchant to travel alone at night?’

‘I had to meet a fellow merchant from the honey fields.’

‘Where had you been?’

‘I had been with my very good friend, your cousin Congal, the Prince of Iar Muman, the Prince of the Eóganacht of Locha Léin.’

Fidelma stared for a moment at the merchant. ‘And what would you be doing at the fortress of Congal?’

‘I was buying badger and fox fur and trading honey from the honey fields and hence …’

Once more Fidelma cut in. ‘It is several days’ journey from the territory of Locha Léin to the River Suir. You would have passed through the territory of the Uí Fidgente or, indeed, the Luachra?’

‘I would.’

‘You did not find that dangerous?’ asked Eadulf.

‘I have no fear of either the Uí Fidgente or Luachra, Brother Eadulf. I know the country well. There is peace between our people now so I often trade among them.’

‘And you did not meet this girl until you came to the River Suir?’

‘That is as I said. The heaviness of my eyes was pressing me to stop but I would be a poor merchant if I did not reach here in time to conclude a good bargain with the smith from Magh Méine. So I had pressed on even though night was upon me.’

‘So you came to the Ford of the Ass. What then?’

‘I saw the girl sheltering by a tree and stopped.’

Eadulf smiled cynically. ‘I thought you said that the girl stopped you?’

The merchant was unabashed, ‘Ah, so it was, Brother. So it was. She asked me to take her as far as Cashel. Out of my generosity, I did so.’

‘Did she tell you what she was doing, camping out by a tree at midnight?’

The fat merchant shrugged. ‘I presumed that she was just an itinerant. One of those wanderers in search of work, who are not to be trusted.’

‘Not to be trusted? Then why did you give her a lift?’

Ordan’s smile was sly. ‘Have I not been telling you that I am a generous man and hate to see poor creatures suffering without a warm bed of straw to lie down in for the night?’

‘So you brought her all the way to Cashel and made her get off your wagon before you even entered the town, leaving her in the darkness of the night. Wasn’t she a stranger to the area and without knowledge of the place, and therefore generosity would surely dictate that you might drop her at the door of a bruden or tavern?’

‘She insisted that I let her down at the edge of the township. Frankly, I was glad to do so. She was of a volatile disposition, Brothel Eadulf. She could well have attacked and robbed me, for she had a knife and it was sharp.’

‘How did you know that? Did anything occur which drew the knife to your attention?’

It seemed the red blotches on the face of the man deepened in intensity.

‘Nothing occurred, and if she tells you different then she is a liar. I am a respectable merchant. I have friends in high places. The girl was merely an itinerant and I was pleased to be rid of her.’

‘You never saw the girl before you met her at the Ford of the Ass?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I did not.’

‘You never saw her in the country of the Luachra?’

The merchant started. ‘The Luachra? Why do you mention them?’

‘I would have thought that the quickest way from the Eóganacht Locha Léin was through the mountains of the Luachra,’ she replied.

He hesitated a moment and then said: ‘I have told you the truth, that I did not encounter her before I crossed the Suir.’

Fidelma suddenly smiled and said pleasantly, ‘Then we shall delay you no longer, for I see a wagon approaching and that must be the smith you are expecting from Magh Méine.’

She turned her horse, with Eadulf following, while the merchant peered after them with an uneasy expression on his blotched face.

‘I think he spoke the truth in its main essentials,’ Eadulf commented, ‘except …’

‘Except it was probably a good thing that Aibell was carrying that knife with such a man as Ordan about,’ finished Fidelma with a grim expression. She turned and waved to Alchú and Gormán to follow them.

‘What now?’ asked Eadulf. ‘It looks as though the girl was telling the truth.’

‘About her arrival in Cashel? I agree, but we should make every check. I do not believe in coincidences. The name Liamuin continues to have significance. And we cannot deny the fact that she was in the very place where the assassin changed into his disguise.’

‘Coincidences sometimes happen,’ offered Eadulf.

‘It would be a fool who denies it,’ she replied evenly. ‘At the same time, assumption is never a good method of investigation.’

‘Then we should try to find this shepherd mentioned by Nessán.’

‘I think so. If he was the person who directed the girl to the hut, that would also confirm that part of her story. But there are other questions which remain.’

They found the shepherd, Spelán, in Rumann’s tavern, which was situated on the main square of the township. When Rumann pointed him out after Fidelma and Eadulf asked the inn-keeper to identify him, the man rose respectfully from his bench in a corner by the smouldering turf fire. Fidelma motioned for him to reseat himself.

‘I am told you have a ewe in bad health, Spelán?’ she began, taking a settle beside him.

The shepherd was nervous. ‘I did, lady.’

‘Did?’

‘She died this morning.’

‘I am sorry to hear it. What was wrong with her?’

‘The other day she began to have difficulties with breathing, shaking her head and sneezing. There was a discharge from her nose. When I went to see her this morning, she was dead. I fear it was the cuilí biasta — evil flies which sometimes choke the noses of sheep. She had probably picked them up grazing in the marsh areas.’

Fidelma made a sympathetic sound. It was not an uncommon occurrence among the sheep flocks.

‘So you were abroad early this morning? Before first light?’

‘That I was, lady.’

‘I understand you keep your flock on the western side of the Road of Rocks?’

The man started to look worried. He nodded in confirmation.

‘Did you meet with anyone on your way there this morning?’

‘It was dark,’ he began. ‘I was up beyond Della’s paddock when I saw that fat merchant, Ordan, on his wagon going along the road. I don’t think he saw me, as the wagon had just passed me when I emerged into the road. But I did see someone else.’

‘And who was that?’

‘A young girl.’

‘How did you know that, if it was dark?’

‘Didn’t I have a lantern?’

‘So what happened?’

‘She wanted a dry place to rest for she said she had been travelling all night. I told her there was a bruden in the town but she said that she wanted a barn or shed where she would not be disturbed. I thought it odd, as she did not appear to be one of those itinerants or beggars. I suggested Della’s barns which were nearby, but she asked if Della had a dog and when I said, yes, she asked if there was anywhere else. Then I remembered the old woodsman’s hut just a few yards into the forest here. I took her to the edge of the forest, for it skirts the Road of Rocks, and pointed the way. It was easy enough to find.’

‘And she went off in the darkness, just like that?’ Fidelma sounded incredulous.

Spelán chuckled. ‘Bless you, no. I gave her my lantern. I know the road well, see, and knew it would be dawn before long. The lass had the greater need of the lantern to guide her along the path to the hut. I told her to leave it there and I would pick it up later today. Did I do wrong?’

Fidelma paused thoughtfully for a moment and then spoke.

‘No, Spelán. And you parted company with her and went off to tend your ewe. Did you see the girl again?’

‘I did not. You don’t think that she took the lantern with her?’ he asked anxiously.

‘She did not,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘I think you will find it in the hut still.’ She rose and thanked him, before turning to Rumann and handing him a coin. ‘You may give Spelán a drink on me to help him with his loss.’

She and Eadulf left the inn with the thanks of the shepherd echoing after them.

As they rejoined Gormán and Alchú outside and mounted their horses, Eadulf declared, ‘Well, all we have learned is that the girl spoke the truth about how she came to the hut. So now do we let her go on her way?’

‘Not at all,’ Fidelma replied, much to his surprise. ‘Our task has only just started. I told you that I do not believe in coincidences. Now we must find out more about Liamuin.’