Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER FIVE

Darkness had already fallen that early winter afternoon by the time six solemn-faced people gathered in a circle of chairs in the small council chamber of the King’s palace. Finguine, the heir apparent to Colgú, assumed the chair of office in the absence of the King. By his side sat Brehon Aillín, acting Chief Brehon since the death of Brehon Áedo. Caol, the commander of the élite warriors of the Golden Collar and bodyguards to the King, sat next to him. On the other side of the circle sat Beccan, the King’s steward. The only person missing from the King’s intimate council was Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, as senior prelate of the kingdom. A messenger had been despatched to advise him of the attack on the King. Fidelma and Eadulf had been invited to join the council. The lamps had been lit and the attendants had withdrawn.

The members of the council listened in silence to what Fidelma had to report. As if by unspoken consent it was Brehon Aillín who was the first to question her when she had finished.

‘So you believe that this girl, Aibell, is who she claims to be?’

‘It would seem so,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But we are faced with accepting two improbable coincidences, and I say that we must take them both into consideration. We found her in the hut where, a short time before she arrived, the assassin changed his clothing, and near where he tethered his horse. Then there is the fact that her mother, who disappeared four years ago after the Battle of Cnoc Áine, was called Liamuin.’

Brehon Aillín made a wry grimace. ‘We should bear in mind what Cicero said: vitam regit fortuna non sapienta — it is chance, not wisdom, that governs human life. So chance — coincidence, call it what you will — does have a part to play and is often dismissed when it should be accepted.’

‘I will grant you that, Aillín,’ Fidelma replied softly. ‘In this instance, however, we cannot rely on accepting chance to make a decision about the involvement of the girl. We need evidence.’

‘The evidence you already have may be circumstantial but it is still evidence,’ replied Brehon Aillín.

‘Do we not have an old saying “better ‘it is’ than ‘it may be so’,” Brehon Aillín?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Of course, of course,’ interrupted Finguine impatiently. ‘Suspicion is no substitute for fact, but how do we set about establishing what the facts are?’

There was a silence and then Brehon Aillín spoke again.

‘I am sure the young dálaigh has some suggestions.’ He looked at Fidelma as he spoke, his words deliberately placing emphasis on her age and legal status. He had not forgotten that a few months before, Fidelma had presented herself to the Council of Brehons of Muman as a candidate to replace the Chief Brehon Baithen, who had died from old age and infirmity. The council, however, had chosen Brehon Áedo as Chief Brehon and, as his deputy, the conservative Brehon Aillín.

It was Beccan, the steward and controller of the King’s household, who replied. ‘Sister Fidelma …’ He paused and smiled apologetically at her. ‘The lady Fidelma as she chooses to be known now, although to most of us she will remain as Sister Fidelma … the lady Fidelma has served both the law and the Eóghanacht well. I think her views and suggestions are well worth our careful attention.’

Brehon Aillín flushed. ‘I would not suggest otherwise, Beccan.’

‘Nor would I have misinterpreted you would do so.’ The steward bowed his head towards the Brehon as if to disguise his sarcasm. ‘I merely emphasise that her view is of importance to us.’

Finguine turned to his cousin, anxious to avoid an argument. ‘You have some suggestions as to how we should proceed, Fidelma?’

Fidelma acknowledged his intervention. ‘We have some clues as to who the assassin was. Each piece of information must be followed and examined.’

‘And these pieces of information are …?’ Brehon Aillín enquired, in a patronising manner.

‘Firstly, the assassin introduced himself as Brother Lennán of Mungairit. Now, I suspect that his name was not Brother Lennán. Perhaps he did not even come from Mungairit. Nevertheless, this must be verified or excluded. Secondly, we were able to confirm that he had changed his clothes before arriving at the palace to attempt his assassination. He rode a good horse, but did not appear to be a warrior, and this evidence leads us to the conclusion that he was a scholar of some description. More importantly, his leather saddle-bag was scored with the sword and serpent symbol of the Uí Fidgente.’

They each nodded in silence as if concurring with the points she made.

‘We found the assassin’s horse left in Della’s paddock and his clothes stored nearby in a woodman’s hut. In that same hut we found the girl, Aibell. Now, according to Aibell, she had run away from the mistreatment of Fidaig of Luachra, and eventually found her way to the Suir where she was given a ride to Cashel. She arrived here just before dawn. A shepherd then suggested the hut to her as a place where she could spend a few hours in the dry and get some rest. Both the driver of the wagon who brought her here and the shepherd who suggested the hut give testimony to the truth of this statement.’

Fidelma paused for a moment. ‘On that basis, we can accept the girl’s statement. However, Aibell also says that she is originally from Dún Eochair Mháigh, the chief fortress of the princes of the Uí Fidgente. She says that her father was a simple fisherman on the River An Mháigh, a man called Escmug who, she claims, was a depraved person and sold her as a bondservant to Fidaig of the Luachra even though she had reached the age of maturity.’

Brehon Aillín could not help interrupting with a sniff. ‘That is unlikely. Even among the Uí Fidgente such a transaction is against the law.’

‘Nevertheless, this is what is claimed. Now, given the fact that our assassin has a saddle-bag with the brand of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and the girl originally comes from the chief fortress of those people, we have another strange coincidence that is worth pondering on. It may well be just another coincidence — but we must gather more facts.’

Finguine sat back with a frown. ‘You have a proposal as to how those facts may be gathered? I presume you mean to question the girl further?’

Brehon Aillín said deprecatingly, ‘If she has lied already, she will lie again.’

‘That is not what I propose,’ Fidelma said hurriedly. ‘I am afraid there is only one way to gather the evidence that might or might not confirm these matters.’

It was Caol, speaking for the first time, who understood her intent.

‘You propose to go to the country of the Uí Fidgente and see if you can obtain this information?’

Brehon Aillín pursed his thin lips in disapproval. ‘The land of the Uí Fidgente is dangerous to one of your blood, especially after your brother defeated the rebellion of Eoganán at Cnoc Áine.’

‘You may recall that Brother Eadulf and I spent some time among the Uí Fidgente when we went to the Abbey of Ard Fhearta,’ Fidelma said.

‘As I recall,’ Brehon Aillín responded in a pedantic tone, ‘you went there at the invitation and under the personal protection of Conrí the son of Conmáel, the warlord of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘That is true,’ Finguine agreed. ‘But since then there has been much disturbance in that country.’

‘Disturbance?’ Fidelma’s tone was dismissive. ‘That was mainly due to the fanaticism of Étain of An Dún and nothing to do with the Uí Fidgente. Even though they are reluctant to accept the rule of Cashel, Prince Donennach has made a peace with us and has kept to it.’

Finguine seemed to be struggling with the proposition. ‘Do you think that such a journey is the only way to resolve this matter?’

‘The corpse will not reveal any more information,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And if Aibell is lying, then she is quite proficient in her lies. Her story of her arrival is supported by two independent witnesses. Yes, I think there is more to be discovered — and the means of doing so is not, sadly, in Cashel.’

Finguine suddenly turned to Eadulf, who had been sitting silently at Fidelma’s side.

‘You do not speak, friend Eadulf. What have you to say in this matter?’

Eadulf stirred himself. ‘I do not speak out of respect to this assembly for it is not my right, being a stranger in this kingdom.’

‘Nonsense!’ Finguine almost snapped the word. ‘You are no longer a cú glass, an exile from over the sea. When you married our cousin you were accepted as a deorad Dé, an exile of God, with an honour price in your own right. Colgú the King has always respected your advice. So do I, and now I ask for your opinion on this matter.’

Caol muttered something in support and even Beccan nodded assent.

‘Very well.’ Eadulf learned forward slightly in his seat. ‘I think you will all agree that since my partnership with Fidelma, we have spent longer away from Cashel than in its vicinity. You may also know that it has been my preference to stay in one place long enough to see our son, Alchú, grow to the age for what you call áilemain, the act of education. Personally, I would prefer to be the boy’s teacher myself, but this I know is not your way.’

Brehon Aillín seemed to suppress a snort. ‘I fail to see how this is answering the question of the tánaiste, the heir apparent.’

‘I preface my remarks in order that you will know that I am not responding lightly,’ replied Eadulf, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Continue,’ Finguine ordered, casting a frown at the Brehon.

‘I have said what I have said so that you will know that my preference would be for Fidelma and me to stay here to look after the wants of our son. However, in this case, the only logical path to discovering who is behind the attempted murder of Colgú and the death of the Chief Brehon, is to follow what little information has been given to us. That is the path Fidelma has outlined to you. If there is any other way we can proceed, then let me hear it now.’

There was a silence among the gathering. It was finally broken by Brehon Aillín. ‘This opinion contains a rather arrogant presumption.’

Fidelma’s head came up quickly. There was a dangerous look in her eyes.

‘I was responding to a question,’ Eadulf said quietly. ‘I fail to see the arrogance in my response.’

‘Perhaps “arrogance” is too strong a term,’ Brehon Aillín replied with a thin smile. ‘And yet the opinion you express is that only you and the lady Fidelma would be fit to take on the task of investigating this matter among the Uí Fidgente.’

Eadulf witnessed the stormclouds gather on Fidelma’s features and put his hand on her arm.

Finguine also noticed, for he said immediately: ‘You are quite right, Brehon Aillín. You do well to remind us that you are senior in this matter.’

Fidelma noticed there was a twinkle in her cousin’s blue eyes as he brushed his Eóghanacht red hair away from his forehead.

‘As the senior Brehon, Aillín himself might want to take on this task of riding into the country of the Uí Fidgente to discover what more can be found out,’ explained Finguine.

The heir apparent’s voice sounded innocent enough, but Fidelma was sure he was inwardly laughing at the crusty old judge, whose features had whitened considerably at the suggestion.

‘It would be an honour to undertake this task,’ Brehon Aillín stuttered a little. ‘Of course, I could do so … But — but I am now acting Chief Brehon following the death of poor Brehon Áedo.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘It is therefore my duty to remain in Cashel as your adviser, Finguine, until the King returns to health. Perhaps a more junior dálaigh would be capable of gathering what additional evidence there is to be garnered?’

‘Naturally,’ agreed Finguine solemnly. ‘And since Fidelma has investigated thus far, and with some notable success, I would suggest that she continues to fulfil this task.’ He turned to Fidelma. ‘And in accepting it, I suggest that our friend Eadulf be at your side as always.’

Fidelma bowed her head so that her amusement was not seen by Brehon Aillín.

‘I will carry out the wishes of my cousin, the tánaiste,’ she forced a sombre note in her voice. ‘And I am sure that Eadulf, in spite of his stated reluctance,’ she glanced meaningfully at the old judge, ‘will be happy to accompany me.’

‘But you cannot go into the country of the Uí Fidgente alone.’ It was Caol who protested. The commander of the élite warriors of Cashel turned anxiously towards Finguine. ‘They must be accompanied by a bodyguard of warriors.’

But Fidelma was already protesting. ‘If we go into the country of the Uí Fidgente with a company of warriors, we will be asking for trouble. There is peace between Prince Donennach and Cashel. Armed warriors riding into his territory will be seen as a sign of aggression. Best go there as what we are — two people who travel in peace.’

‘We cannot trust the Uí Fidgente,’ Caol said obstinately. ‘I have fought against them at Cnoc Áine, and I am responsible for your safety as a Princess of the Eóghanacht. Remember that Abbot Nannid of Mungairit is the uncle of Prince Donennach. I cannot allow …’

Fidelma’s eyes flashed suddenly. ‘Cannot allow?’ she demanded coldly.

Finguine once again raised his hand for silence. ‘I am inclined to agree with Caol, Fidelma. It crosses my mind that this is an interesting time for this attack to have happened.’

‘Why so?’ Fidelma was impatient.

‘Because Prince Donennach is due here before the next full moon. He is coming to negotiate a new treaty with Colgú to supersede the one concluded at the end of the Uí Fidgente uprising against us four years ago.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘I was not told this. I had heard that he was going to pay his respects to the High King at Tara, but not that he was returning through Cashel.’

‘It was felt best not to make the negotiation too widely known.’

‘Donennach is a wily politician,’ muttered Caol. ‘That is why I should go with you. You stand in need of protection.’

‘Eadulf and I can protect ourselves …’ began Fidelma.

Finguine intervened again: ‘Your brother has come close to assassination. If there is a danger in the country of the Uí Fidgente then you must take what steps you may for your protection. On the other hand, Fidelma, I can appreciate your argument that it would be ill-advised for you to take an entire band of warriors as your escort. That would draw too much attention to yourselves and might well restrict your enquiries.’

‘What middle path do you suggest?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I would suggest that one warrior of the Nasc Niadh, the Golden Collar, should accompany you.’

Fidelma thought about it and then shrugged. ‘Very well. One warrior will not attract as much attention to us as a band of warriors.’

‘Then it is agreed,’ confirmed Finguine.

‘I will make sure that you are both kept safe,’ Caol promised them with a confident smile. ‘It will be like old times.’

Finguine was shaking his head. ‘I did not mean you, Caol. As commander of the warriors in Cashel your task must be to remain close by my side during this time of unrest. If news of the severity of the King’s injuries becomes known among his enemies, then we may stand in need of your skills.’

Caol’s expression fell in disappointment. ‘But I know the Uí Fidgente,’ he repeated. ‘They are not to be trusted. I was one of the warriors who went with Uisnech, the lord of Áine, to pacify them after they were defeated at Cnoc Áine. And didn’t they assassinate Uisnech before they agreed the peace with Cashel? You must remember that, Finguine. You are of the Eóghanacht Áine and were you not kinsman to Uisnech?’

Finguine would not be moved.

‘My mind is made up, Caol. Your duty is here. Now, who would you recommend to accompany the lady Fidelma?’

Caol looked as if he would argue further, but seeing the determination in the tánaiste’s features, he shrugged. Before he could speak, however, Fidelma had answered her cousin. ‘Let Gormán come with us. He has had a great deal of experience.’

‘An excellent choice,’ Finguine agreed, turning to Caol. ‘Do you raise any objections?’

‘He is a good man,’ Caol admitted reluctantly.

Finguine turned back to Fidelma and asked: ‘Do you know when you will leave?’

‘Tomorrow, at first light.’

‘How will you proceed?’

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and then said confidently, ‘First we will go directly to the Abbey of Mungairit. It may be that something is known there of Brother Lennán. The road is not too difficult beyond Ara’s Well. Two days’ riding should bring us safely to the abbey.’

‘But if you have no success at Mungairit, what then?’

‘Then we shall ride south-west. We’ll follow the river, An Mháigh, to Dún Eochair Mháigh and see what is known of this girl and her mother Liamuin. That’s no more than a day’s ride from Mungairit. A further day’s ride would put us in Luachra territory if our enquiries force us there. From the territory of the Luachra we could be back in Cashel after two or three days at most. Of course, it all depends on how long we stay in each place pursuing our task, but the minimum we should be away is seven days.’

Finguine was calculating the time. ‘I cannot say I feel comfortable about this, but if there is no other way …’

‘This has to be done so that we can learn if there is more danger threatening,’ Fidelma insisted.

Finguine nodded briefly before glancing around at the assembled company. ‘Then it is agreed?’

They assented one by one, although Caol still looked disappointed that he would not be going with them.

Outside the small council chamber Fidelma turned to Eadulf and apologised.

‘For what?’ he asked.

‘Once more we have to leave little Alchú behind.’

Eadulf smiled at her. ‘In this case it seems necessary. Let us hope it will not be for long. The boy is bright and I feel he now needs our attention. He is beginning to have dexterity in counting and speaking. He is even picking up some of my language, in spite of Muirgen’s disapproval.’

Fidelma laughed easily. ‘Take no notice. It is what we think that is important. Indeed, this is the best time for the boy to learn languages. We should talk to Brother Conchobhar about it. He always says that the younger a child starts learning languages, the more naturally they can pick them up.’

‘Well, I am certainly impressed by the way he counts and with his vocabulary. I nearly flushed in embarrassment when he commented on Ordan’s appearance, but he was accurate. He puts words together to communicate, he knows the difference between time words — yesterday and next week — and he knows emotional words — happiness and disappointment.’

Fidelma said teasingly, ‘I have to say that little Alchú is only showing that he is a normal child.’

‘But he can relate the spoken numbers to objects,’ protested Eadulf.

‘As can any average child at his age.’

Eadulf realised that he was sounding like a proud and boastful father.

‘Let’s go and find Brother Conchobhar now,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘We’ll make sure he keeps an eye on Alchú while we are away. Muirgen means well and the boy will be safe in her hands, but now he is learning so rapidly, she needs a little help. What was good for her when she was growing up at Gabhlán in the shadow of Sliabh Mis is not quite good enough for an Eóghanacht …’ She was about to say ‘an Eóghanacht prince’ but hesitated in case Eadulf was offended. Eadulf pretended he did not notice the slip of the tongue.

They crossed the cobbled courtyard to the small apothecary shop where a dim light could be seen through the window. Fidelma tapped on the dark oak door before seizing the handle to open it. Immediately she and Eadulf were engulfed in the pungent aromas of herbs and dried flowers, combining in an almost overpowering smell that caused them to catch their breath. It took a few moments for them to grow used to it.

From the gloom of the interior Brother Conchobhar moved forward, a lamp in his hand.

‘Ah,’ he smiled as he recognised them. He put the lamp down on a work-bench and proceeded to light a stronger lantern to illuminate the scene. ‘There is still no change in the condition of your brother, Fidelma,’ he said at once. ‘I left him but a short time ago. I do not expect any further change one way or another until tomorrow. At least his heart is strong and the bleeding has stopped. It is not the first time the King has suffered grievous wounds.’

Fidelma drew her brows together. ‘I do not recall him suffering a serious wound previously?’

‘You were away at that time, lady — at the Abbey of the Three Wells, as I recall. It was during the Battle of Cnoc Áine when we defeated the Uí Fidgente.’

‘I did not know.’

‘He still bears a scar on his right side. One of the enemy struck his shield from his hand and managed to bite into the flesh with his sword. He was carried barely conscious from the field even moments before the Uí Fidgente admitted defeat. He recovered quickly, as I am sure he will recover from this wound.’

‘Thank you, Conchobhar,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘We will pray that you are right.’

‘We came to speak with you on another matter.’ Eadulf intervened to break the awkward silence.

‘Another matter?’

‘Fidelma and I have to leave Cashel,’ explained Eadulf. ‘We need to follow some information which may lead us to discover who the would-be assassin was and whether he was working alone or in some conspiracy.’

Brother Conchobhar’s expression was one between resignation and disapproval.

‘Then I presume that you will both be heading off into the country of the Uí Fidgente?’

‘Gormán will come with us,’ Fidelma said, and when the old man did not show any enthusiasm, she added: ‘Have you seen some warning in the heavens?’

Brother Conchobhar was not only a gifted apothecary but he was a keen observer of the heavens and had a gift for making observations from the stars as to the best and worst of times. It was an art that had helped Fidelma several times in the past and the old man had once advised that it was a gift that Fidelma should develop herself.

Brother Conchobhar, however, simply shrugged. ‘The wheel of the sun can tell many things. Some are clear, some are obscure. What I see presently is that it could be a time of ill-judgement.’

Eadulf smiled and said: ‘I have never known a time when one could not make an ill-judged decision.’

‘True for you, friend Eadulf. But the Red Mare consorts with the warrior and the Fair Mare drinks at the watergate of heaven. It is compounded by the star of knowledge being in the company of the bees while the star that defends is in the sign of the reaping hook.’

Eadulf looked blank as he tried to interpret the unfamiliar names and connect them to the stars.

‘It means,’ went on the old apothecary patiently, ‘that there is much restlessness, impatience and hot temper at this time which could lead to quick judgements and wrong conclusions.’

‘I’ve no understanding of these matters,’ protested Eadulf.

‘The Red Mare is what we sometimes call the sun; the Fair Mare is the moon. We call what you might know as Sagittarius, the warrior; the watergate of heaven is Aquarius and the star of knowledge is …’

‘I know that is Mercury, and the Defender is what you call Mars,’ interrupted Eadulf irritably. ‘I know those names.’

‘And it means one is in the sign of Scorpio and the other in that of Leo,’ explained Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar smiled in approval. ‘Exactly so, my young friends. I do not say this will be the entire influence but, if you find that you are given to impulsive behaviour and decisions, then be warned. Avoid such tendencies.’

‘That we will,’ Fidelma solemnly assured him.

‘Yet that is not what we came to see you about,’ Eadulf added.

The apothecary’s eyes widened. ‘Then … what? Oh, about the girl Aibell? Have no fear. I shall keep an eye on her. I have already spoken to Dar Luga and together you may trust us to keep her safe and secure.’

‘It is not even about her, this time,’ Fidelma said. ‘It’s about Alchú.’

‘He is a bright, intelligent boy,’ Eadulf added.

‘And that is natural in view of his parentage,’ observed the old man with a smile.

‘In seriousness, he is learning many things and his mind needs to be engaged so that he continues to learn,’ pressed Eadulf. ‘While we are away, we thought you might speak with him, teach him things, and especially watch his vocabulary and his knowledge. He is already counting in my own language.’ Eadulf spoke the last sentence proudly.

Brother Conchobhar’s smile broadened. ‘Alas, I do not know much of your language, friend Eadulf. But you may rest assured that I can impart a little of Latin and Greek and much of my own mother tongue.’

‘That would be of tremendous help,’ Eadulf assured him. ‘It is just that …’

‘Just that you realise that the boy is of an age where he is absorbing information very quickly,’ suggested Conchobhar. ‘While Muirgen can teach many things, she is not exactly of a scholarly disposition. The time has come when his mind needs to be engaged with knowledge that she cannot impart.’

‘Exactly so,’ said Eadulf, feeling a little guilty over Muirgen’s role for she had been essential to them in the early days, especially when Fidelma had been seized with a curious depression about the baby and her behaviour had begun to worry Eadulf.

‘Do not worry, my friends. I understand. As a matter of fact, I have recently made a purchase from your old college, Eadulf, which I was going to tell you about before … before …’ He raised a shoulder and let it drop.

‘What sort of purchase?’ asked Fidelma curiously.

‘One that will help with the education of the young. It is a book that has been copied at Tuaim Drecain and much of it is attributed to Cenn Fáelad who was a chief professor at the school. I am told, however, that it was Longarad of Magh Thuathat who devised the entire book. It is a book called Auraicept na nÉces — The Scholar’s Primer. It gives knowledge on grammar, rhyme, and the meaning of the old alphabet we called after Ogma, the old God of Literacy. It has the new alphabet and shows how children may remember the letters by calling each one after a known tree.’

‘I don’t understand,’ frowned Eadulf.

‘Easy enough. A is ailm, a pine tree; B is beith, a birch tree; and C is coll, a hazel tree and so on.’

‘Ah, it is the way some of our scholars teach young children. A is for apple; B is for boy; and C is for cat.’

‘It seems a good idea,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘So long as someone in the future does not think that there is more symbolism in the concept and start forming other ideas beyond seeing it as a simple way of children remembering their letters.’

Brother Conchobhar chuckled. ‘I don’t think we need have any fear of that.’ He turned and picked up a leather-bound vellum book from a shelf and showed it to Eadulf. ‘I shall leave it in the tech screpta, the library, for your return, friend Eadulf. Then you will see some of the matters that I shall pass on to your son.’

‘Fair enough,’ Eadulf nodded. ‘I will rest easy now that you will look after him, for he is an intelligent lad and has the sharp mind of his mother.’

Fidelma playfully punched Eadulf on the arm for she was not displeased with the compliment.

‘And now we must find Gormán and warn him of our journey tomorrow,’ she said.

As Eadulf was about to pass out of the door after Fidelma, Brother Conchobhar suddenly tugged at his sleeve and pressed something round and metallic into his hand. The old man said softly: ‘Fidelma has left the religious, I know. She believes that she no longer needs their help. The time may come when you might — especially where you are going. This is the silver seal of Ségdae of Imleach, whose authority is known throughout Muman. He gave it to me some time ago. Show it to any religious in the kingdom and they will respect its authority.’ Then he raised his voice and wished Eadulf ‘good luck’ on his journey.

They left the apothecary, with Fidelma not seeming to have noticed the exchange, and made their way across the shadow-filled courtyard, lit by several brand torches. The shadows darted this way and that as warriors moved here and there, fulfilling their duties as sentinels. They found Gormán at the stables checking the tackle. He looked up as they entered and grinned. He was clearly in a good mood.

‘Caol has already told me,’ he greeted them. ‘We shall journey together. I don’t think Caol was too pleased that he has to stay behind tomorrow.’

‘I suppose he feels responsible that he was not able to defend the King against the assassin’s blow before the damage had been done,’ Eadulf commented. ‘Perhaps there is vengeance in his mind.’

‘That’s probably it,’ agreed the young warrior. ‘He would doubtless like to reinstate himself in your eyes.’

‘He has no call to feel any guilt in that respect,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It happened so fast that none of us were able to move until it was too late. It was so unexpected.’

‘Are you prepared for tomorrow?’ asked Eadulf.

‘The horses will be ready in the courtyard before dawn, friend Eadulf.’

‘We will make our journey in slow and easy fashion,’ Fidelma promised, knowing full well that Eadulf did not regard himself as the best of horsemen.

‘I have ridden to Mungairit in a single day,’ said Gormán solemnly, ‘but that was on a warm summer’s day and I rode from dawn to sunset with scarcely a pause. But do not fear; with these shorter, winter days, we have only half the time to be on the road, otherwise darkness and cold will overcome us. Nevertheless, we could stay overnight at a place called Ulla, among the rounded hillocks. There is a good tavern there, as I recall. We could reach it before dark tomorrow. Then by the next day we will be safely in Mungairit.’

‘It is a good suggestion but we will let the day and conditions dictate our pace,’ Fidelma said sensibly. ‘There is no need to rush, for we are not in pursuit of anyone … yet we are travelling through the country of the Uí Fidgente so we must be vigilant.’

‘That is understood, lady; yet it would be a bad thing when a warrior of the Golden Collar is fearful of travelling in any part of the Kingdom of Muman because of a rebellious clan who ought to have learned their lesson by now.’

‘Even so, as the philosophers say — in ominia paratus. Be prepared for anything.’

‘Then we shall be prepared, come what may, lady.’