Master of Souls

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B y late afternoon that day they had reached Daingean Ui Cuis, the fortress of the descendants of Cuis, the capital of the Corco Duibhne from which Slebene ruled the entire peninsula. The great fortress overlooked an excellent harbour on the south side of the peninsula. The harbour had a narrow entrance to the sea. Mugron’s coastal vessel could easily have navigated around the end of the peninsula to it but it was faster to land at the northern harbour of Duinn’s settlement and come through the mountain valleys by horse, a distance of some twenty kilometres.

Mugron had reported the matter of the strange warship to Duinn, who was a rough, almost uncommunicative man, more fitted to be a warrior than a minor chieftain. He did not seem perturbed by their report and felt that the responsibility of sending men to Seanach’s Island was not his immediate concern. Even when Fidelma rebuked his lack of enterprise, he was stubborn.

‘It is up to Slebene, Sister,’ he said. ‘He will make the decision. My task is to make sure that goods are landed safely here, not to go chasing after raiders unless they come into the waters of my territory.’

Finally, Fidelma gave up trying to persuade him. Mugron had purchased some horses and it was arranged that they could be used by Fidelma and her party, who would eventually ride them back to Ard Fhearta by the land route. Their own mounts were, of course, still stabled at Ard Fhearta. While Conri was sorting out the details with Mugron, a monk arrived who identified himself as Brother Maidiu, the keeper of the oratory on Breanainn’s mount. He had come to the harbour to trade with Mugron and was able to confirm that there was still no sign of the missing members of Abbess Faife’s party. Fidelma had expected no less.

They finally left Mugron and his ship at Duinn’s harbour settlement

The party spoke little as they rode along. But soon enough they reached the end of the long valley, passing by a series of lochs, and then climbing through a short mountain pass before descending almost immediately into the plain that led to Daingean. While Slebene’s fortress of grey stones was eye-catching, what was more striking was the settlement that spread around the harbour before it. Even Eadulf was impressed by the populace and by the vessels clustered in the sheltered harbour. There were even two churches within the settlement, set apart from the other buildings by their small wooden bell towers.

There was no difficulty in finding their way through the streets of the settlement to the great wooden gates of Slebene’s fortress from which the settlement took its name — An Daingean.

Heavily armed warriors barred their way at the gates, demanding to know their business. Fidelma requested to see their chieftain. On being asked who it was who wished to see Slebene, Fidelma felt the need to impress by announcing herself as Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgu, king of Muman. That certainly had the desired effect and they were quickly admitted to the fortress. One of the warriors hurried off to announce their presence to Slebene. They had barely time to dismount before the warrior came hurrying back to announce that Slebene would see them immediately. Conri told his men to stay with the horses and arrange for their feeding. Then the three of them followed the warrior to the great hall of the fortress where Slebene waited to receive them.

Slebene, chief of the Corco Duibhne, was a large man with a loud voice who used a great bellow of laughter as a means of punctuation. He was

He came forward to greet his visitors with a bear hug to each one, even Fidelma, leaving them all breathless in his overwhelming presence.

‘Welcome, you are welcome!’ he thundered. ‘Let me offer you corma — or there is mead if you prefer it?’ He waved to an attendant and would hear no refusal on their part.

He bade them all be seated before the fire that crackled in a circular hearth in the middle of his great hall.

‘I am honoured to give hospitality to the daughter of Failbe Flann. There is something in your manner, Fidelma of Cashel, that reminds me of him,’ he told her with a toss of his silver-grey mane.

Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

‘You knew my father?’

‘Did I know Failbe Flann?’ There came the great bellow of laughter.

‘Did I not fight at his right hand at the battle of Ath Goan when we overthrew the king of Laigin’s men? I fought with him at Carn Feradaig when we put to flight that pretentious whelp Guaire Aidne and his Ui Fidgente allies and sent them with their tails between their legs scampering back to their mothers in Connacht. Those were the days when the Eoghanacht were in danger from the pretensions of their neighbours. Indeed, those were great days when we exerted our authority with swords and axes.’

Fidelma glanced anxiously at Conri but the Ui Fidgente’s face was impassive.

‘Carn Feradaig was fought forty years ago,’ she pointed out, examining Slebene curiously and wondering how old he could be.

‘I was a young man then,’ smiled the chief. ‘Young and ready for battle. But age and chieftainship create wisdom and the hardest thing in age is that you have to send the keen young innocents off into battle on your behalf. It is a strange thing, life. Youth will not believe that age will come, or age believe that death will come. I believe I shall live for ever.’

Eadulf smiled thinly.

‘Grave senectus est hominibus pondus,’ he proclaimed.

To his surprise Slebene slapped his thigh in good humour, understanding the Latin aphorism.

‘Age, indeed, is a heavy load, Brother Saxon. But the groans of the aged are often heavier than the load.’

‘I would like to speak more of my father, but an another occasion,’ Fidelma said, ‘but we have little time to spare at present

…’

‘Ah, patience was not a virtue of Failbe Flann either. Never mind. We shall speak more of him at the feasting this night. Look, the day is growing dark already. Such is the curse of a winter’s day. Whatever business you have with me will not interfere with the meal, for you will stay overnight at least.’

Thanking him for the hospitality, Fidelma told him about the encounter with the warship on their journey.

The chief listened to the story of the attack with an incredulous expression, and when she had finished Slebene threw back his great mane of hair and let forth a resounding hoot of laughter.

‘A pirate, no less, and in my domain! Well, we’ve dealt with them before, by the fires of Bel! Soon there will be one less pirate to trouble the merchants.’

Eadulf winced a little at the pagan oath, glancing at Fidelma. She was not perturbed. She knew that the territory of the Corco Duibhne was still not entirely converted to the New Faith in spite of the prominent churches in the settlement outside the fortress.

‘We are concerned, Slebene,’ Fidelma leant forward earnestly, ‘for the members of the hermit community of Seanach’s Island. Your man Duinn, when we told him, did not share that concern. He said that only you were able to make the decision as to whether a ship should be sent to find out whether the religious on the island are safe.’

Slebene stroked his beard, still smiling at her.

‘Duinn is a cautious man. But have no fear. No one would ever harm a hermit group, especially those of the Faith. Duinn is a good man, when acting under orders. He has little imagination himself.‘He glanced at Conri. ‘Fidelma says this warship flew the war banner of Eoganan of the Ui Fidgente.’

‘It did.’

‘And you, warlord of the Ui Fidgente, reject all knowledge of Ui Fidgente warships in my territory?’

‘We are at peace now,’ replied Conri. ‘If this is a ship manned by Ui Fidgente, then they are rebels and outcasts.’

The chief chuckled and shook his head.

‘Rebels? A difficult word to define. Who is a rebel and who is not? They vary from day to day. Yesterday, Eoganan was a legitimate ruler. Today, those who supported him are rebels. Well, without wishing to cast insult, peace means nothing. For years I have had Eoganan’s whelp, Uaman, controlling the passes on my eastern borders. He even dared to call himself Lord of the Passes. Every time I took my warriors against him, he would either shut himself up in that impregnable fortress on that island of his or disappear up into the mountains where it was impossible to find him and come to blows.’

‘Uaman is dead,’ Eadulf pointed out, trying to bring the conversation to the immediate point. ‘The task is to find out who these raiders are.’

Slebene glanced at him with interest.

‘How do you know that Uaman is dead, my Saxon friend?’

‘Because I saw him die. I was a prisoner in his fortress but escaped and watched him perish in the quicksand and the tides that separated his island from the mainland.’

The chieftain regarded him in some astonishment.

‘I had heard rumours that he died screaming. I did not know there was a witness to his end. But you claim to be that witness, Saxon?’

‘I do.’

‘Are you sure he died?’

Eadulf coloured a little.

‘Do you doubt my word?’ he said testily.

‘If you say that you saw him die then I accept it. However…’ Slebene paused. ‘I have reports from the eastern border of my lands that say he is still seen among the mountain passes, still raiding and demanding tribute from my people.’

‘That cannot be. He was caught in the quicksand.’

Eadulf grew impatient.

‘It is not Uaman that concerns us but-’

The chief held up a giant paw of a hand to still him.

‘I am sure that there is no need for you to worry. We’ve always had raiders in these waters. Pirates in search of a cargo. Seanach’s community has never been harmed before, why would they be now?’

Fidelma was piqued.

‘Are you saying that you will not send a vessel and men to investigate?’

Slebene shrugged.

‘I see no great need for it…’ He paused, catching the dangerous glint in her eye. Then he chuckled. ‘But if you feel that I should… then of course I’ll send a vessel. And if they encounter these pirates,’ he chuckled again, ‘then we will see how they fight when they have real champions to contend with.’

Conri pushed out his lower lip. He was angry at the implied insult to him and his warriors.

‘There is an old saying, Slebene,’ his voice was dangerous, ‘that any man may laugh on a hillside.’

The chief’s eyes narrowed and for the first time there was a look of hostility in his eyes. The meaning of the saying was that it was all very well to ridicule one’s foes from a safe position. He was about to reply when Fidelma intervened.

‘At least we had good Ui Fidgente warriors with us who managed to halt their attack, whoever the raiders were,’ she said quietly.

The big man blinked, hesitated and then roared with laughter again, clapping his hand to his knee.

‘A dog knows his own faults, Fidelma,’ he replied with a smile and using another old saying to counter Conri’s. ‘I am sure the warlord of the Ui Fidgente will understand that no slight against him or his men was intended.’

‘Therefore no slight is taken,’ confirmed Conri. tightly.

‘That is well said,’ Fidelma added smoothly. ‘Yet let me point out that there is a contradiction when you assume that the religious hermits on the island stand in no danger.’

‘A contradiction?’ demanded Slebene with interest. ‘What contradiction?’

‘The very thing that has brought us here. The slaughter of the Abbess Faife and the disappearance of her religieuse who were on their way to Breanainn’s mountain.’

The chief became serious.

‘Ah, Abbess Faife. I grieved when I heard the news. She had passed through Daingean many times with pilgrims on the road to the mountain. A sadness has been on me since I heard of her death. But it happened in the eastern passes where we have reports of these marauders. When Uaman the Leper used to control-’

‘Did you send warriors to investigate?’

Slebene shook his head, unabashed at her tone.

‘There was no need. Travellers told me that the body of the abbess was recovered and taken back to Ard Fhearta. Is it about this matter that you have come here, Fidelma of Cashel?’

‘I am here to find the missing members of the community of Ard Fhearta as well as to find out who was responsible for the abbess’s death.’

The chief did not appear particularly concerned.

‘Then this evening you will be my guests and we will feast. I will send my steward to fetch you when all is ready. Tomorrow you may travel where you will with my blessing and authority to conduct your inquiries in my territory.’

His tone clearly dismissed them from his presence. Slebene’s good humour seemed to have evaporated. His mood was sullen. Fidelma rose with the others.

‘Thank you,’ she said, with dignity. ‘In that case we shall withdraw and bathe before the feasting starts.’

Slebene of the Corco Duibhne knew how to arrange a good feast, of that there was no doubt. The meal had been organised in the great hall and there were some forty guests. Fidelma, Eadulf and Conri were apparently not the only visitors to Daingean that day. There were some merchants and local chieftains who had come to pay their respects and tributes to Slebene. An officer known as a bollscari was employed to instruct guests where they should be seated at the lines of willow tables. Fidelma and her companions found themselves placed at the top table facing the lines of guests of lesser rank. When all the guests were seated, two seats remained empty at the table at which Fidelma and the others sat. Behind one of these empty chairs a broad, muscular man, with bushy red curly hair and beard, whose attire and accoutrements proclaimed him to be a warrior, had taken his stand with folded arms. Fidelma noticed a tattoo on his right arm, a curious image of a serpent wrapped round a sword. This was against all convention for the young men of Eireann did not usually adorn themselves in such a fashion. But this unusual body decoration was not the cause of Fidelma’s disapproving frown. It was unusual for warriors entering feasting halls to carry weapons. This man was well armed with sword and daggers. She presumed that the man was Slebene’s tren-fher, his personal champion and bodyguard. But it was a sign of bad taste to invite guests for a feast and parade an armed warrior to protect the chief in the feasting hall.

As soon as all the guests were seated, the fear-stuic, the trumpeter, at a signal from the bollscari, gave a single blast on his instrument. The company rose and then Slebene and a young woman entered. She had a hard-faced beauty and arrogant poise. It was not until after the meal that Fidelma heard that this was the chief’s latest mistress. Whether Slebene was out to impress them or the other guests, Fidelma was not sure. The chief of the Corco Duibhne entered the great hall clad in fine regalia; in satins and silks and wearing a silver circlet on his head in which were embedded clear purple amethysts and bright green emeralds. Fidelma had only seen such ostentation at the ceremonial feasts of the High King himself. Of all the company, only Fidelma remained seated as he entered, not as an insult, but as she was entitled to do by her rank as sister to the king of Muman.

Another blast of the trumpet and the formalities were almost complete. In came the deoghbhaire, the cupbearers, with wines, ale and mead, to be followed by attendants carrying bowls of steaming beochaill, a broth of meats and herbs, a favourite dish at this time of year for the winter was chill. Attendants came forward to place basins of water by the plate of each diner and a lamhbrat, or handcloth, for them to cleanse and dry their hands after the meal. With the empty bowls of broth removed, there came another trumpet blast and three attendants came to present large dishes of uncarved meat for Slebene’s inspection. One dish was of roasted pig, another, Eadulf could tell, was venison while the third he was not sure of.

The chief, who seemed to have recovered from his sullen mood, glanced at the dishes and then pointed to the pork with a grin. The other dishes were removed to the side and the chosen meat was placed on the table before Slebene. One of the attendants came forward with sharpened knives. He was known as the dailemain, the attendant responsible for carving the meal and distributing it to the guests. A choice joint was expertly carved from it, placed on a platter and handed to Slebene, who stood up, took it in both hands and held it up at eye level.

‘This is the curath-mir,’ he intoned loudly. ‘It is the hero’s portion. To whom does the hero’s portion belong?’

One of the guests immediately shouted: ‘To you, lord Slebene! You are the greatest champion of them all.’

Slebene chuckled in appreciation.

‘Yet I am not the only hero who dines here tonight.’

The company continued shouting approval for Slebene. But the chief turned slightly towards Conri and suddenly the guests fell silent.

‘There sits the warlord of the Ui Fidgente, Conri son of Conmael. We of the Corco Duibhne have often tasted the steel of his people. Is he not worthy of the hero’s portion? We have met his people in battle several times. Can we not acknowledge the bravery of their warlord?’

An angry muttering started to ripple through the hall.

‘Come, do not be shy. Rise up, Conri son of Conmael, if you would claim the hero’s portion for yourself.’ Slebene gave a bellow of laughter and held out the plate of meat.

Conri had started to stiffen. Fidelma put a restraining hand on his arm.

Eadulf looked quickly at the chief, realising that Slebene was deliberately trying to provoke the Ui Fidgente warlord. Behind the chief, his champion stood with a soft smile on his lips. It was clearly an insult, just as it was clear from the eager expressions on the faces of the guests that they realised that Slebene was challenging Conri to fight. Such things happened in ancient times at feastings. Although the New Faith frowned on it, challenges as to who was the better champion still occurred. In the old days, such challenges and their outcome made exciting stories for the bards to relate to their enthralled audiences.

Conri now shook off Fidelma’s restraining hand and rose slowly in his place.

‘I…’ he began.

‘I would claim the hero’s portion!’

Everyone looked round in surprise.

Fidelma was suddenly on her feet and had issued the challenge quietly but clearly.

There was an awkward silence. Then someone began to laugh but was quickly hushed by their neighbour.

Slebene stood stock still in wide-eyed astonishment.

Conri was frowning in annoyance at her. Eadulf was shocked at this turn of events.

‘You cannot-’ Conri began.

She turned angrily to him, eyes burning him back into his seat.

‘I have issued my claim first. Those who deny it must prove themselves against me.’

‘But you are a religieuse, one of the Faith…’ protested Conri weakly.

Fidelma threw back her red hair and thrust out her chin slightly.

‘I am Fidelma, daughter of Failbe Flann, king of Muman, sister of Colgu, king of Muman, descendant of generations of kings from the time curath-mir!’

She stared defiantly into his black narrowing eyes. For a while there was silence. Then Slebene swallowed noisily. He shook back his mane of hair and roared with laughter. This time the laughter conveyed good humour and not insult.

‘Was there any doubt to whom the portion should go?’ He thrust the plate of meat at the attendant. ‘To the daughter of Cashel’s greatest king, Failbe Flann, goes the hero’s portion!’ He turned and clapped his hands to bring the other attendants forward. ‘Come, quickly now, distribute the meat before it grows cold upon the plates.’

The attendant placed the dish of pork before Fidelma and she slowly sat down. Conri was still staring at her in bewilderment.

Eadulf, at her other side, was looking relieved.

‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ he whispered harshly to Fidelma.

She smiled quickly at him.

‘I was counting on the fact that he would not dare accept my challenge because he knows what would happen if Colgu decided that he had to avenge me.’ She bent nearer his ear. ‘For some reason Slebene was trying to provoke Conri into a fight. The only way to stop him was if I stepped in first to claim the hero’s portion. It worked. But Slebene is a wily one. Keep a careful watch on him, Eadulf.’

The dailemain came forward with a platter offering venison or pork or the other meat that he did not recognise.

He asked what it was and was told it was ron. He was still none the wiser until Fidelma explained in Latin that it was vitulus marinus.

‘Seal!’ Eadulf screwed up his face with a shudder and chose the venison. There was foltchep, or leeks, and mecan, parsnip, to have as side dishes.

Wheaten cakes and sweet meats, honey kneaded with salmon’s roe into little cakes, provided the last course.

At the centre of the table, Slebene seemed oblivious of the glances that he had received, and was tucking into his meal with relish. His regular roar of laughter even drowned out the playing of the cruit, a lute-like instrument, which had accompanied the meal from the start.

It was as the meal came to a close and the braccat — a liquor distilled from malt and mixed with honey and spices — was handed round that Slebene called for his bard to come forward. A handsome young man

Slebene rapped on the table with the butt of his knife for silence.

‘In honour of our guest, Fidelma of Cashel, we shall hear the forsundud, the praise song of the race of Eibhear, her own ancestors.’

The forsundud was the most ancient form of song in the land, in which the generations of kings and princes were listed and praised.

The young man bowed and stood for a moment until the noise of the feasting hall had died away and then he began softly.

Ceatharchad do Chormaic Cas

Ar lath mhor mhumhan mionn-ghlar…

Cormac Cas reigned over Muman

For forty years unvanquished

But by the River Siur his great ambitions

By Death were basely thwarted…

Eadulf listened to the chanting, wild rhythms but, as he had heard it before, after a while he became bored.

He was almost nodding off and had not realised that he had closed his eyes. The volume of sound suddenly shocked him awake.

Six religious had taken the place of the young bard. They were roaring out one of the new chants of the Faith but in a strange mixture of the tongue of the Eireannach and Latin. It was a musical sound that he had recently heard before.

Regem regum rogamus — in n ostris sermonibus who protected Noah with his crew — diluui temporibus.

Melchisedech rex Salem — incerto de semine,

May his prayers deliver us- ab omni formidine.

Soter who delivered Lot from fire, qui per saecia habetur,

Ut nos omnes precamur — liberare digneteur.

It was a joyous chant and Eadulf wondered where he had heard it before.

He had the opportunity of speaking to one of the singers as the feasting drew to a close. He was a barrel-chested man who sung baritone.

‘That song is a new one, Brother.’ He smiled at Eadulf’s question. ‘It was composed by Colman mac Ui Clusaim, who took his people from their abbey at the town on the marshland, and went to the islands when the place was threatened by the Yellow Plague. He and his followers sang it to keep them healthy.’

‘So it is only a few years old in its composition?’

The singer agreed. ‘It is a beautiful song, Brother.’

‘And sung to a Gallican chant,’ observed Eadulf thoughtfully.

The singer looked at him with a new respect.

‘You know about such things, Brother?’

Eadulf shrugged.

‘Only a little,’ he confessed. ‘I heard something of these chants from Brother Cillin at Ard Fhearta.’

The man was suddenly very interested.

‘Brother Cillin? Are you then one of the Unending Circle?’

Eadulf tried to hide his frown of surprise. Obviously this meant something significant. He had heard the term before. But where, and what did it mean?

He smiled and lowered his voice confidentially.

‘Are not the enlightened all one with the Unending Circle?’ he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

To his surprise the singer held out his hand.

‘Indeed. And the day will surely come soon, Brother. Brother Cillin has promised us that. We shall all be prepared. Perhaps I shall see you soon in Ard Fhearta when we meet again with Brother Cillin?’

‘You know him well?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Brother Cillin, that is?’

‘He was here two moons ago to help us train our little band of singers.’

‘He was here in Daingean?’

‘Indeed, he was.’

The singer was suddenly distracted by one of his companions and he smiled apologetically at Eadulf.

‘Sic itur ad astra!’ he said softly and was gone before Eadulf could respond. Eadulf was still frowning when Fidelma came up.

‘Why so pensive, Eadulf?’ she asked.

‘Sic itur ad astra,’ he said quietly.

‘Thus one goes to the stars?’ repeated Fidelma. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘I am not sure. It was said to me. What does it mean?’

‘Your Latin is as good as mine. If you want a non-literal meaning, it is something like — this is the path to immortality. So what have you been up to?’

Briefly Eadulf told her.

‘Maybe it is some secret society that Brother Cillin has formed, something connected with choristers perhaps? There are several movements among the churches, but mainly among the Franks and Romans, to set up little groups who fondly imagine themselves to be the elite of their professions. They are little groups of artisans and the like, a bit like boys at play with their secret societies.’

The hour grew late and as Slebene and his lady had already disappeared, Fidelma suggested that the party withdraw to the guests’ chambers, leaving everyone else to the continued intoxication of the night’s merrymaking.

The next morning the sky was blue and cloudless but this also meant it was cold and a frost lay on the ground, hardening the snow where it lay outside the fortress and its surrounding settlement. Winter harshness covered the landscape.

To their surprise Slebene was up and greeted them all with a broad smile when they went in to break their fast in the tech-noiged, the meal room. When Conri returned his greeting without enthusiasm, the chief clapped him on the shoulder with a great roar of laughter.

‘You must have humour, warlord of the Ui Fidgente. Do not take our little ways too seriously. It was but a jest.’

Fidelma glanced uneasily at Slebene.

‘It was a jest in poor taste,’ she said quietly.

Her rebuke did not dent Slebene’s good humour.

‘We are simple folk here, Fidelma of Cashel. We believe in old ways, old customs, and cannot change.’

‘Is there not an old saying that change is refreshing?’ replied Fidelma in admonishment.

Slebene bellowed with laughter again.

‘I presume,’ he said after a pause, ‘that you will set off on your quest as soon as you have eaten?’

‘That is our intention,’ Eadulf confirmed between mouthfuls of wheaten bread and honey.

‘You have heard no word of the missing women of Ard Fhearta?’ Fidelma asked quietly.

Slebene shook his mane of hair.

‘No word has come to me.’

‘I was not clear from our conversation yesterday how far you had looked for them.’

‘I have asked my people to spread the word among the eastern settlements.’ Apparently Slebene did not notice her disapproving look.

‘When you heard word of Abbess Faife’s death and the disappearance of her company, I might have expected you to send your warriors in search of them.’

Slebene looked genuinely surprised.

‘If the marauders along the border have abducted them, it would serve little purpose to send my warriors up into the mountains to be cut down.’

Conri sniffed in his displeasure.

‘Yet you do not mind if we set out alone?’

The chief smiled a little viciously.

‘You are warlord of the Ui Fidgente and have two of your warriors with you. Those who once marauded my eastern borders were supposedly of the Ui Fidgente. I am reminded that Uaman was a prince of your people. I presume then that you would surely be safe enough.’

Conri was on his feet, a hand clapped to his side, before Fidelma could stay him. Had it not been a rule that no warrior could sit at meals without leaving his weapons outside, a blade might have been drawn and worse.

Slebene was sitting back chuckling cynically at his reaction.

Fidelma stood up and caught Conri’s arm.

‘I think we have had enough of your humour, Slebene. The Abbess Faife was of the Ui Fidgente. Moreover, she was aunt to Conri. The fact did not protect her.’

It was obvious that the look of remorse that Slebene assumed was false. ‘Then I am contrite indeed. I never thought of her as Ui Fidgente. She was so devoted to Cashel. Yet the abbess was possessed of a great soul.’

Fidelma moved quickly before Conri took this as a new insult.

‘A bad excuse is better than none,’ she whispered quickly, looking meaningfully at the warlord.

Conri hesitated and then nodded.

‘We should be on our way, lady, and make the best of the day for travelling,’ he said heavily.

‘You are right, Conri,’ she said.

Conri was immediately out of the door pretending to see to his men and organise their horses to avoid the farewell.

Eadulf was embarrassed by the exchange of hostility and he also rose, brushing the crumbs from his clothes.

‘You are welcome to return any time, Fidelma of Cashel.’ Slebene smiled, emphasising the word ‘you’. ‘Then we shall feast and speak of great battles and worthy enterprises. My bard will sing again the great forsundud of the kings of the race of Eibhear and this time add a verse praising your adventures.’

‘Let us pray that the verse will speak of the success of the current adventure, Slebene,’ Fidelma replied solemnly.

‘May success be at the end of your road, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the chief intoned equally solemnly.

A little while later, with Conri’s two warriors bringing up the rear, Fidelma, Eadulf and Conri left the fortress of Daingean and took the road that ran eastward along the peninsula with the mountains rising to their left and the sea at some little distance to their right. They rode in a brooding silence for a long while before Conri burst out in anger.

‘That man! He has been provoking me ever since we arrived.’ Fidelma agreed.

‘Mugron told me of his perverse humour,’ she said. ‘Maybe you cannot teach an old dog new tricks or an old man the etiquette of a new age.’

‘I think this Slebene is a man of anger and arrogance. There is something about him I distrust,’ Conri said.

‘I agree with Conri,’ Eadulf added.

Fidelma smiled and shook her head.

‘Perhaps you are both taking his sense of humour too seriously. Perhaps he is a straight and honest man.’

‘Is it not said that a straight sapling may have a crooked root?’ pointed out Eadulf.

It was not often that Eadulf made up his mind so quickly to dislike someone.

‘You must have something on your mind, Eadulf,’ Conri observed.

‘I noticed that he was not perturbed by our report of the warship in his waters and the possible fate of the hermits on that island. I will wager that when we ask, we shall discover that no vessel will have been sent by him to inquire as to the safety of the community,’ he said.

They received this in thoughtful silence.

‘There is another thing,’ added Eadulf, ‘and I think you both noticed it.’

‘Which is?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘How he was not really concerned about the murder of Abbess Faife or the disappearance of her companions. He made no search for the missing religieuse. Further, he is prepared to let us ride eastward alone, not even offering warriors to escort us; ride east into an area that he claims is still subject to raids.’

Conri was grim-faced.

‘Once more, I agree with Brother Eadulf. For a chieftain of this land, his behaviour is less than gracious. Courtesy never undermined a chieftain’s power but he has none. I think we should keep a careful watch.’

Fidelma was reflective for a moment.

‘These observations are true,’ she finally said. ‘But having made them, is there something we can deduce from them?’

Eadulf and Conri exchanged a glance.

‘I am not sure that I understand,’ Eadulf ventured.

‘Why would Slebene behave in such a manner?’

‘Because he knows more than we think he does.’

‘Knows more about what?’

‘About whatever it was that happened during the abduction of the women,’ suggested Conri. ‘Perhaps there is more in the murder of my aunt and the disappearance of her companions than we can guess at.’

Fidelma grimaced ruefully.

‘Suspicion is one thing. But we know nothing and so can guess at nothing. The intention of this journey is to find facts so that we may discover the truth. To speculate on the motives of another, even when one is witness to bizarre behaviour, is not profitable, as I am always telling Eadulf.’

‘Well, I am happy that we have put Daingean behind us,’ Conri said firmly. ‘I shall instruct my men to keep a careful watch on our backs.’ He hesitated. ‘I have not thanked you, lady, for what you did at the feasting last night.’

Fidelma smiled.

‘I did nothing but demand the curath-mir by right of lineage.’

‘I realise that Slebene was deliberately challenging me. He wanted to pick a fight with me. I cannot believe that it was simply because he hates all Ui Fidgente. There was some other reason, of that I am sure, but what it was…’ He ended with a shrug.

They fell silent again as they rode on.

The whisper of the sea nearby was practically the only sound that broke the white snowscape through which they journeyed. Now and then came the harsh cry of birds and then the howl of a lonely wolf, causing cold fingers to touch at their backbones. But there was no sign of anyone following from Daingean or, indeed, anyone else on the road.

They journeyed leisurely, stopping at midday to prepare a hot broth, and they eventually halted just before nightfall at a coirceogach, one of the ancient deserted stone cabins that littered the mountainsides in this part of the world. With a fire lit, it was warm in these small dwellings. One of the two warriors took charge of the horses to ensure they were fed and watered, and made as warm and comfortable as possible. Everyone took turns in keeping watch through the night, but nothing untoward happened. There were no surprises and no signs of anyone with aggressive intent.