The Spider's Web

Chapter Three

In the flagged courtyard of the abbey, they found the young man, Archú, with the girl who had been with him in the chapel. They were waiting impatiently, seated in the shade of the cloisters. Nearby two horses stood already saddled. Archú stood up and approached Sister Fidelma as she appeared. He still reminded her of an eager puppy awaiting his master’s pleasure.

‘I am told that you need a guide to take you to the land of Araglin, sister. I am pleased to be able to offer my service to you since you have restored my land and my honour.’

Fidelma shook her head, restraining a smile at his youthful dignity.

‘I have told you before, the law was the only arbiter in that matter. You owe no debt to me.’

She turned as the young girl now approached, eyes down cast. She was attractive, slim and fair-haired and Fidelma estimated that she was no more than sixteen years of age.

Archú introduced her with a self-conscious air.

‘This is Scoth. Now that I have my land, we are to be married. I shall ask our priest, Father Gormán, to arrange it as soon as we get home.’

The young girl blushed happily.

‘Even had the judgment gone against you, I would still have married you,’ she rebuked him gently. She turned to Fidelma. ‘That was why I followed Archú here. It would not have mattered to me which way your judgment went. Truly it would not.’

Fidelma regarded the young girl gravely.

‘But it is just as well, Scoth, that the judgment went well. Nowyou are to marry an ocáire and not a landless man.’

In turn, Fidelma introduced Brother Eadulf to them. One of the brothers had been packing food and drink for the journey into the saddle bags of the horses and now came forward leading the two mounts by their bridles. She noticed that Archú and Scoth each carried a bundle and a blackthorn staff. She realised that there were no other horses in the courtyard and it was clear that they had no mounts, not even an ass to ride.

Archú noticed her frown and correctly guessed what was passing through her mind.

‘We do not have horses, sister. There are horses on the farm in Araglin but, of course, I was not allowed to take them for the journey here. And my cousin, Muadnat,’ he hesitated and his pronunciation of the name was tinged with bitterness, ‘has already left with Agdae, his chief cowman. So we must return as we came … on foot.’

Fidelma shook her head gently.

‘No matter,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Our horses are strong mounts and you are but small extra weight. Scoth can ride behind me while you, Archú, can get up behind Brother Eadulf.’

It was mid-afternoon when they turned through the large wooden gates of the monastery and walked the horses along a path by the broad river with the mountains rising immediately to the north of them.

Archú, seated behind Eadulf, pointed across his shoulder.

‘Araglin lies up in those mountains,’ he called eagerly. ‘We will have to rest somewhere in their midst tonight but you will be in Araglin before midday tomorrow.’

‘Where were you planning to spent the night?’ asked Fidelma, as she turned her horse across the narrow wooden bridge which spanned the great river in the direction of the tall northern peaks.

‘Within a mile or so we’ll leave the northern road to Cashel and begin to ascend through hilly country towards the land of Araglin, along the west side of a small river that rises in thosemountains,’ replied Archú. ‘It is heavily wooded country. Along that path there is a tavern should you wish to spend the night there. We should reach there just before nightfall.’

‘Then the next day’s journey will be easy,’ chimed in the girl, Scoth, from behind Fidelma. ‘It will be but a few hours’ ride across the head of the great glen and down into the valley of Araglin which takes you straight to the rath of the chieftain of Araglin.’

Brother Eadulf turned his head slightly.

‘Do you know why we are heading there?’

Archú contrived to shrug on his perch behind the monk.

‘The Father Abbot did tell us the news from Araglin,’ he replied.

‘Did you know Eber?’ asked Fidelma. The youth had not seemed unduly alarmed that his chieftain had been murdered. She was interested by his lack of concern.

‘I knew of him,’ Archú admitted. ‘Indeed, my mother was related to him. But most people in Araglin are related in some way. My mother’s farm was in an isolated valley known as the valley of the Black Marsh, which is some miles from the rath of the chieftain. We had little cause to go to the rath of the chieftain. Nor did Eber ever come to see my mother. Her marriage to my father was not approved of by her family. Father Gormán came to visit us now and then but never Eber.’

‘And you, Scoth? Did you know Eber?’

‘I was an orphan, raised as a servant on Muadnat’s farm. I never was allowed to go to the rath of the chieftain, though I saw Eber several times when he came to feast or hunt with Muadnat. And once he came to Muadnat’s farmstead some years ago to raise the clan to battle against the Uí Fidgente. I remember him as being in the same mould as Muadnat. I have seen him drunken and abusive.’

‘My father, Artgal, answered his call and went off to fight the Ui Fidgente but never returned,’ added Archú angrily.

‘So there is little you can tell me about Eber?’

‘What is it that you wish to know?’ asked Archú with interest.

‘I would like to know about the sort of person he was. You say that you have seen him drunk and abusive. But was he an able chieftain of his people?’

‘Most people spoke well of him,’ Archú offered. ‘I think he was well-liked but when I sought advice from Father Gormán, about making a legal claim against Muadnat, he advised me to take the claim to Lios Mhór rather than appeal directly to Eber.’

Fidelma found this a curious piece of advice for a priest to give. After all, the first step in any litigation was an appeal to the clan chieftain; even a petty chieftain of a small sept had the right to make an initial judgment. She was reminded that Beccan had mentioned that Araglin did not have a Brehon to advise on the law, so perhaps Father Gormán’s advice was sound enough and not a reflection on the prejudice of Eber.

‘Did Father Gormán offer any reason why you should appeal directly to Lios Mhór?’ she asked.

‘None.’

‘Isn’t it curious that two people can be raised in a clan territory yet hardly see the chieftain of their clan?’ Eadulf questioned.

Archú laughed disarmingly.

‘Araglin is not some small territory. You could easily get lost among the mountains. Indeed, you might dwell all your life there and not meet the neighbour on the other side of the hill. My farmstead,’ the boy paused and savoured the phrase, ‘my farmstead, as I have said, is in an isolated valley and there is only one other farmstead in it, the farm of Muadnat.’

Scoth sighed deeply.

‘It is to be hoped our lives will be different now. I hardly knew the countryside beyond Muadnat’s kitchen.’

‘Why didn’t you run away from Muadnat then?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I did as soon as I was of legal age. But where could I go? I was soon brought back to his farmstead.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

‘Were you taken back by force? By what right did Muadnat 28force you back? You were not one of the unfree class?’

‘Unfree class?’ interposed Eadulf. ‘Slaves, you mean? I did not think there were slaves in the five kingdoms.’

‘There are not,’ replied Fidelma immediately. ‘The “unfree class” is the class who have no rights at all within the clan.’

‘What are they but slaves?’

‘Not so. They consist of those who were prisoners, taken in war, hostages and cowards who deserted their clan in time of need. They also include law breakers who could not or would not pay the compensation and fines judged against them. These are deprived of all civil rights but not excluded from society. They are placed in a position where they have to contribute to its welfare. Of course, they could not bear arms or be elected to any office within the clan.’

Eadulf pulled a face.

‘It sounds like slavery to me.’

Fidelma showed her annoyance.

‘The “unfree class” are divided into two groups. One group can rent and work on the land and pay taxes while the other are those who are untrustworthy and in constant rebellion against the system. Anyone in either position can redeem themselves by working until the fines are met.’

‘And if they are not met?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Then they remain in that position, without civil rights, until they die.’

‘So their children become slaves?’

‘Not slaves!’ Fidelma corrected again. ‘And the law states “every dead person kills their own liabilities”. Their children become full citizens once again.’

She caught the smile of amusement around Eadulf’s mouth and wondered whether he was using her tactic of playing devil’s advocate in order to provoke her. She had often used this stratagem to bait Eadulf in the past about his beliefs. Could it be that Eadulf had finally learnt a more subtle humour? Shewas about to say something when the girl, Scoth, intervened.

‘I was not of the “unfree class”,’ she said hotly, reminding them of the origin of the discussion. ‘Muadnat was simply my legal guardian and had control of me until I reached the age of choice. He had no hold on me after that but I had nowhere to go. I left his farmstead but there was nowhere I could get work and so I had to return.’

‘Things will be different now,’ Archú insisted.

‘Well, I would caution you to beware of Muadnat,’ Fidelma advised. ‘He struck me as a man who harbours grudges.’

Archú agreed emphatically.

‘That I do know. I shall be watchful, sister.’

The track along which Fidelma and Eadulf guided their horses began to rise more rapidly up into the hills, away from the stately pushing river, upwards towards the more towering rounded bald peaks of the mountains, which poked up from the skirting forests. The lower periphery of the hills was thickly forested but the track across the mountain had been used for countless centuries so that the trees fell away on either side leaving a fairly clear roadway which even a good sized wagon could traverse in dry weather.

The air was still, the quiet broken only by the heavy snorting breath of the horses as they moved upwards. Now and again they could hear the excited yap of wild dogs and the protesting howl of a wolf, warning against intrusion into its territory.

The sun was already dipping below the peaks to the west and long shadows were spreading rapidly. As the sun began to disappear, the air turned chill. Fidelma was reminded that tomorrow would be the feast in remembrance of Conlaed of blessed name, a skilled metalworker of Kildare who had fashioned the sacred vessels for Brigid’s monastery. She must remember to light a candle in his name. But the thought caused her to acknowledge that they were already into the month regarded as the first month of the summer period which ended with the feast of Lughnasa, one of the popular pagan festivals which the new Faith had been unable 30to abolish. The horses climbed slowly and deliberately and Eadulf began to cast nervous glances towards the glowing tip of sunlight behind them to the west.

‘It will be dark before long,’ he observed unnecessarily.

‘It is not far now,’ Archú assured him. ‘See that bend in the road to our right? We take the small path there, leaving this main track, and moving higher into the mountains along the side of the stream which crosses our road there.’

They fell silent again as they turned into the dark oak forests where there was now room for only one horse to tread the clearly unfrequented path. One behind the other the two horses plodded through the narrow defile amidst sedate oaks and tall yews. A further hour passed. Twilight descended rapidly.

‘Are you sure that we are on the right path?’ demanded Eadulf, not for the first time. ‘I see no sign of a tavern.’

Patiently, the youth, Archú, pointed forward.

‘You will see it once we reach the next bend in the track,’ he guaranteed the Saxon monk.

It was beyond dusk now; in fact, it was almost dark and they could barely see the turning along the tree lined path. Although there were no clouds in the sky, the trees also hid a clear view of the night sky. Only a few bright stars could be clearly seen through the canopy of branches. Among them Fidelma noticed the bright twinkling of the evening star dominating the heavens. They had been climbing along this mountain path for a full hour, wending their precarious way through the darkening trees which oppressed them on every side. They had encountered no one else on the road since they left the main thoroughfare. Even Fidelma was beginning to wonder whether it was unwise to press further. Perhaps it would be better to halt, prepare a fire and make the best of it for the night.

She was about to make this suggestion when they came to the bend in the path. It abruptly opened out into a broader track.

They saw the light as soon as they reached the bend.

‘There it is,’ announced Archú with satisfaction. ‘Just as I said it would be.’

A short distance ahead of them, by the side of the track, a lantern flickered from the top of a tall post on a short stretch of faitche, or lawn, which stretched to a stone building. Fidelma knew that, according to law, all taverns or public hostels, bruden as they were called, had to announce themselves by displaying a lighted lantern all through the night.

They halted their horses by the post. Fidelma saw, incised in the Latin script on the wooden name-board below the lantern, the name ‘Bruden na Réaltaí’ — the hostel of the stars. Fidelma glanced up to the sky, for the canopy of branches no longer obscured it, and saw the myriad of twinkling silver lights spread across the heavens. The hostel was aptly named.

They had barely halted when an elderly man threw open the door of the hostel and came hurrying forward to greet them.

‘Welcome, travellers,’ he cried in a rather high pitched voice. ‘Go inside and I will attend to your horses. Get you in, for the night is chill.’

Inside, the hostel seemed deserted. A great log fire was crackling in the hearth at one end of the room. In a large cauldron, an aromatic broth simmered above the flames, its perfume permeating the place. It was warm and comforting. The lanterns were lit and flickering against the polished oak and red deal panels of the room.

Fidelma’s eye was caught by a table on one side of the room on which, at first glance, seemed to be a scattered assortment of common rocks. She frowned and stooped to examine them closely, picking up one and feeling its heavy metallic weight. The rocks were polished and appeared to be placed as someone might arrange ornaments to give atmosphere to the room.

Shaking her head slightly in perplexity, Fidelma led the way to a large table near the fire but did not sit down. Hours in the saddle made her appreciate the comfort of standing a while.

It was Archú who approached her nervously.

‘I am sorry, sister. I should have mentioned this before but neither Scoth nor I have any means to pay the hosteller. We will withdraw and camp the night in the woods outside. That was what we were going to do. It is a dry night and none too cold in spite of what our hosteller says,’ he added.

Fidelma shook her head.

‘And you an ocáire?’ she gently chided. ‘You have wealth enough now that you have won your plea to the courts. It would be churlish of me not to advance you the price of food and lodging for the night.’

‘But …’ protested Archú.

‘No more of this,’ Fidelma interrupted firmly. ‘A bed is more comfortable than the damp earth and this simmering broth has a wonderful, inviting aroma.’

She gazed with curiosity around the deserted hostel.

‘It seems that we are the only travellers on this road tonight,’ Eadulf observed as he sprawled on a chair near the fire.

‘It is not a busy road,’ Archú explained. ‘This is the only road which leads into the country of Araglin.’

Fidelma was immediately interested.

‘If that is so and this is the only hostel along the route, it seems odd that we have not encountered your cousin Muadnat here.’

‘God be thanked that we have not,’ muttered Scoth as she took her seat at the table.

‘Nevertheless, he and his companion …’

‘That was Agdae, his cowman and nephew,’ supplied Scoth.

‘He and Agdae,’ continued Fidelma, ‘left Lios Mhór before us and they would surely have taken this road if it is the only one to Araglin.’

‘Why worry about Muadnat?’ Eadulf yawned, his eyes coveting the broth.

‘I do not like questions that are unresolved,’ Fidelma explained in a vexed tone.

The door opened. The elderly man appeared. They could seein the light of the room that he was a man of fleshy features, greying hair and a pleasant manner that befitted his calling. His face was red, round and wreathed in a permanent smile.

He regarded the company warmly.

‘Welcome again. I have stabled and attended your horses. My name is Bressal and I am entirely at your service. My house is yours.’

‘We will require beds for the night,’ Fidelma announced.

‘Certainly, sister.’

‘We will also require food,’ added Eadulf quickly, looking longingly at the simmering contents of the cauldron once again.

‘Indeed, and good mead to slack your thirst, no doubt?’ agreed the hostel keeper breezily. ‘My mead is regarded as the best in these mountains.’

‘Excellent,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘You may serve …’

‘We shall eat after we have washed the dust of travel from us,’ Fidelma interrupted sharply.

Eadulf knew that it was the Irish custom to have a bath every evening before the main meal of the day. It was a custom that he had never really grown accustomed to for the ritual of daily bathing was not a practice of his own people. However, here it was regarded as a lack of social etiquette not to bathe before the evening meal.

‘Your baths shall be prepared, but they will take a little while for I have no other help but my own two hands,’ Bressal explained.

‘I do not mind a cold bath,’ Eadulf offered quickly. ‘I am sure Archú is not bothered about a warm bath.’

The youth hesitated and shrugged.

Fidelma’s mouth turned down in disapproval. She believed in the correct ritual of purification.

‘Scoth and I will help Bressal heat the water for our baths,’ she volunteered. ‘You may do as you think fit,’ she added with a glance of reproof at Eadulf.

Bressal spread his arms apologetically.

‘I regret the inconvenience, sister. Come, I will show you theway to the bath house. For you, brother, there is a stream running beside the hostel. You may take a lamp with you, if it is your wish to bathe there.’

Archú picked up a lamp, although he looked somewhat reluctant having heard where the site of the bath house was located.

‘I will carry the lamp,’ he offered.

Eadulf clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Come, little brother,’ he encouraged. ‘A cold wash never hurt anyone.’

It was over an hour later before they finally sat down to eat. The broth was of oatmeal and leeks enlivened by some herbs. And there was a dish of trout to follow; trout caught in the local stream, served with freshly baked bread and honey sweetened mead. Bressal was no novice when it came to cooking.

He kept up a lively conversation as he served them, recounting local pieces of information. But it was clear that he was isolated and he had certainly not yet heard of the murder of the chieftain of Araglin of which young Archú informed him, wishing to establish his new found position as a man of status in Araglin.

‘Are we the only travellers on this road tonight?’ Fidelma asked during a lull in the conversation.

Bressal pulled a face.

‘You are the only travellers to stop here during the last week. Not many traverse this particular road to Araglin.’

‘Then there are surely other roads?’

‘Indeed there is one other. A track which runs from the east of the valley along which one might reach the south, Lios Mhór, Ard Mór and Dún Garbhain. This road is merely the one which joins the great road that runs north to Cashel or south to Lios Mhór. Why do you ask, sister?’ There was a glint of curiosity in the hostel keeper’s eyes.

Archú was frowning.

‘I was told that this was the only road to Lios Mhór.’

‘By whom?’ demanded the hostel keeper.

‘Father Gormán of Araglin.’

‘Well, the eastern road is the quicker road to Lios Mhór,’ Bressal insisted. ‘He should know better.’

Fidelma decided to change the subject and indicated the collection of rocks on the side table. ‘You have a curious collection of ornaments there, my friend.’

Bressal was dismissive.

‘Not mine. I did not collect them. My brother, Morna, is a miner, working in the mines which lie to the west of here on the Plain of Minerals. He picked up these rocks during his work. I keep them for him.’

Fidelma appeared to be very interested in the rocks, picking them up and turning them over in her hands.

‘They are very intriguing.’

‘Morna has been collecting them for years. It was only a couple of days ago that he came here, full of excitement, saying that he had discovered something that would make him rich. He had a rock with him. How a rock would make him rich I do not know. He spent a night here and left the next day.’

‘Which was the rock he brought with him?’ Fidelma asked, intrigued as she ran her eye over the collection.

Bressal rubbed the back of his head.

‘I confess that I am not sure now.’ He picked one up. ‘This one I think.’

Fidelma took it and held it in her hands, turning it over. To her untrained eye it was just an ordinary piece of granite. She handed it back to the hostel keeper. He replaced the rock on the table.

‘Can I get you anything else before you retire for the night?’ he asked, turning to the company.

Archú and Scoth decided to retire while Eadulf asked for another cup of mead and announced he would sit by the fire awhile longer. Fidelma sat talking to Bressal for hostel keepers were always a good source of information. She turned the conversation to Eber. Bressal had only seen Eber half-a-dozen times passingfrom his territory on the road to Cashel. He had little knowledge to form an opinion of him, though he said that he had heard mixed opinions of the man. Some thought he was a bully while others praised him for his kindliness and generosity.

It was still early when Fidelma announced that she would retire to bed. Bressal had allocated Fidelma a corner of the main sleeping area which consisted of the entire top floor of the hostel. It was a curtained off space, for it was unusual in tiny hostels to find separate rooms for those spending the night. The bed was no more than a straw palliasse on the floor and a rough woollen blanket. It was clean, warm and comfortable and she would ask no more.

It appeared to her that her head had barely lain on the straw when she was startled awake. A warm hand was gripping her arm and squeezing gently. She blinked and began to struggle but a voice whispered: ‘Hush. It is I.’

It was Eadulf’s voice.

She lay still, blinking a moment.

‘There are some armed men outside the hostel,’ Eadulf continued, his voice pitched so low that she could barely hear it.

Fidelma was aware that the window was filled with a curious grey light and while, through its uncurtained aperture, she could still see one or two tiny bright points of stars reluctant to leave the sky, she realised that dawn was not far away.

‘What is it that worries you about these armed men?’ she demanded, following Eadulf’s example and keeping her voice low.

‘The sound of horses woke me fifteen minutes ago,’ Eadulf explained quietly. ‘I peered out and saw the shadows of half a dozen riders. They rode up silently but did not come to the hostel. They hid their horses in the woods beyond and took up positions among the trees before the hostel door.’

Fidelma sat up abruptly. She was wide awake now.

‘Outlaws?’

‘Perhaps. It seems to me that they mean no good to this hostel for they all carried bows with them.’

‘Have you alerted Bressal?’

‘I woke him first. He is downstairs securing the doors in case we are attacked.’

‘Has he been attacked before?’

‘Never. Sometimes the richer hostels along the main road between Lios Mhór and Cashel have been attacked and robbed by groups of outlaws. But why would anyone choose this isolated hostel to rob?’

‘Are the youngsters awake?’

‘The youngsters? Oh, you mean Archú and Scoth. Not yet. I came …’

There was a curious whooshing sound from outside and Fidelma momentarily caught the smell of fire. A second whoosh barely registered on her ears as an arrow sped through the window and embedded itself in the wall beyond. Straw, fastened around the arrow, had been set alight. Now there came the sounds of a man calling orders from outside.

Fidelma leapt from her bed.

‘Wake the others. We are being attacked.’ The last sentence was unnecessary as another flaming arrow flashed into the room and embedded itself into the floor. She ran forward and grasped it, without concern for the hungry flames. She turned and threw it through the window before reaching for the first arrow and sending it after the other through the window. Turning again, she grabbed her robe and dragged it over her head. Almost without pausing, she pulled down the curtained partitions in case an arrow ignited them. Archú, awakened by Eadulf, came running forward to help her.

‘Stay here,’ instructed Fidelma. ‘Keep down but if any lighted arrows land in the room make sure the flames are put out.’

Without waiting for a reply she turned away and hurried down the stairs into the main room.

Bressal, the hostel keeper, was busily stringing a bow. It was clear that he was unpractised for he was clumsy.

He glanced up, his usually cheerful face was creased with anger.

‘Outlaws!’ he muttered. ‘I have never known outlaws in these woods. I must defend the hostel.’

Eadulf now came racing down the stairs.

‘You said that you saw these men,’ Fidelma greeted him. ‘How many did you estimate there are?’

‘About half a dozen,’ replied Eadulf.

Fidelma compressed her lips so hard that they almost hurt. She was trying hard to think of a means of defending the hostel.

‘Do you have any other weapons, Bressal?’ Eadulf demanded. ‘We have nothing to defend ourselves with.’

The hostel keeper stared at him in surprise that a man of the Faith should be asking for weapons to defend himself with.

‘Quickly, man!’ snapped Eadulf.

Bressal jerked in obedience.

‘I have two swords and this bow, that’s all.’

Eadulf eyed the bow speculatively. It looked a good one, made of yew, strong and pliable, so far as he could judge.

‘How well can you use that?’

‘Not well,’ Bressal confessed.

‘Then give it to me. Take a sword.’

Bressal was bemused.

‘But you are a brother of …’

It was Fidelma who cut him short by stamping her foot.

‘Give the bow to him!’

Eadulf almost grabbed the bow from his hand and strung it with an ease born of long experience.

‘Give me one of the swords,’ Fidelma instructed as Eadulf tested the string. There was no time to explain to the astounded hostel keeper that as daughter of a Failbe Flann, king of Cashel, she had grown up using a sword almost before she had learnt to read and write.

Eadulf took the handful of arrows that were on the table.

‘Is there a back door?’ he questioned.

Bressal gestured wordlessly in the direction of the rear of the hostel.

Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a quick glance.

‘I mean to sneak out the back and try to circle behind these carrion,’ he replied in answer to her silent question.

‘I’ll come with you,’ replied Fidelma at once.

Eadulf did not waste time arguing.

Fidelma glanced to Bressal.

‘Our young companions are above and will attempt to put out the lighted arrows that fall into the room. You stay here and do the same but be sure that you bar the door after us.’

Bressal said nothing. Events were happening too quickly for him to protest.

Eadulf, with bow and arrows, followed by Fidelma, gripping the sword which Bressal had thrust into her hand, moved to the back door. Bressal unbarred it and, looking swiftly out, motioned to them that it was safe to leave. Eadulf hastened across the yard into the trees beyond. Fidelma followed a moment later, thanking the saints that the attackers, whoever they were, did not have the sense to completely surround the hostel.

Once into the cover of the woods, Eadulf moved cautiously, swinging around the hostel towards the roadway which ran in front of it. They could see several more arrows had been released towards the front of the hostel, one or two falling onto its thatched roof. Soon the place would be ablaze unless the attack was quickly beaten off.

The air was cold but the light was sharp now as the sun began to rise.

Fidelma, peering through the cover of the trees, saw the shadowy figures in the underbrush opposite. She knew enough to realise that they were not professional warriors for they made no good use of the cover and were shouting to each other thus revealingtheir positions. It was clear that they did not expect any real opposition from the hostel keeper and his guests. It occurred to Fidelma that it was curious that they did not simply burst into the hostel and rob the occupants, if that was their intention. It seemed as if they merely wanted to burn the place down.

Eadulf had strung an arrow and was waiting the next move.

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.

One of the men, shooting the flaming arrows into the hostel, stood up to aim, presenting a clear target in the early morning light. Fidelma touched Eadulf’s arm lightly and gestured towards the figure. She had no wish to kill anyone, even though the man seemed intent on destroying the hostel, but it was too late to instruct Eadulf how to ply the bow.

Eadulf raised the bow and aimed quickly but carefully. She saw his arrow embed itself in the shoulder of the man, the shoulder of the bow arm. She could not have done it better. The assailant gave a sudden scream and dropped his own bow, clasping his bleeding shoulder with his other hand.

There was a momentary silence.

Then hoarse voices cried out demanding to know what the matter was with the man. Someone ran towards the injured attacker through the trees, making a noise that any real warrior would be ashamed of. Eadulf had strung a second arrow and silently asked a question of Fidelma with a glance. She nodded.

A second bowman had appeared by the side of the injured man.

Eadulf took aim and released another missile.

Again he aimed carefully and hit the bow arm, his arrow striking the man’s shoulder. The second man yelled more in surprise than in pain and began a furious cursing.

A third voice cried out in panic: ‘We are being attacked. Let’s go. Go!’

There was a clamour, the frenetic whinny of horses and the two injured men turned and stumbled, moaning and cursing, through the trees. Eadulf strung a third arrow.

Out of the surrounding forests came a small band of horsemen, urging their mounts to breakneck speed towards the narrow path ahead. Fidelma saw that, as Eadulf had said, there were no more than half a dozen men. She spotted the two injured men, precariously mounted. They came charging down the road, passing close to where Fidelma and Eadulf had taken up their positions. Eadulf was about to spring out at them, but Fidelma held him back.

‘Let them go,’ she instructed. ‘We have been lucky so far.’ Indeed, she uttered a prayer of thanks for professional fighting men would not have been so easily routed.

She stared up as the attackers rode by her and noticed the last man in the cavalcade, a burly man with a large reddish beard and ugly features, crouching low over his horse’s neck. Eadulf had half raised his bow but let it drop with a shrug when he realised the rider failed to present a good enough target.

The band of horsemen quickly disappeared along the path and into the forests.

Eadulf turned to Fidelma in bewilderment.

‘Why did we let them go?’ he demanded.

Fidelma smiled tightly.

‘We were lucky. If they had been warriors we would not have come away so lightly. Thank God that they were a group of cowards, but if you corner a coward, like a small frightened animal, he will fight savagely for his freedom. Besides, our attention is needed at the hostel. Look, the roof is already alight.’

She turned and hurried to the hostel, calling out to Bressal that the attackers had fled and to come out to help them.

Bressal found a ladder and within moments, they had formed a chain, passing buckets of water up to the thatch. It took a while but eventually the fire was doused and the thatch just damp and smoky. Bressal, gratefully, took a flagon of mead and poured cups for them all.

‘I have to thank you for saving this hostel from those bandits,’ he announced as he handed them the drink.

‘Who were they?’ demanded young Archú. ‘Did you see any of them close to, sister?’

‘Only a glimpse,’ confessed Fidelma.

‘At least two of them will have painful shoulders for a while,’ Eadulf added grimly.

‘This area is a poor part of the country,’ Archú reflected wonderingly. ‘It is strange that bandits would attempt to rob this hostel.’

‘Rob?’ Fidelma raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘It seemed to me that they were trying to burn it down rather than rob it.’

Eadulf nodded slowly.

‘That is true. They could have come up quietly enough and burst in, if they had wanted to simply rob the hostel and its guests.’

‘Perhaps they were just passing by and seized the opportunity on the spur of the moment without any thought of a plan,’ Bressal offered the explanation but his tone did not carry conviction.

Eadulf shook his head.

‘Passing by? You said yourself that this road is not one used frequently and that it only leads in and out of Araglin.’

Bressal sighed.

‘Well, I have never been attacked by outlaws before.’

‘Do you have enemies, Bressal?’ Eadulf pressed. ‘Is there anyone who would want to see you driven out of this hostel?’

‘No one,’ affirmed Bressal with conviction. ‘There is no one who would profit in any way by the destruction of this hostel. I have served here all my life.’

‘Then …’ Eadulf began but Fidelma interrupted sharply.

‘Perhaps it was just a gang of plunderers searching for easy pickings. But they will have learnt a lesson for now.’

Eadulf looked as if he were about to say something but, catching Fidelma’s eye, he clamped his jaw shut.

‘It was lucky that you were here,’ Bressal agreed, not noticing this interplay. ‘I could not have beaten off the attack by myself.’

‘Well, it is time to break our fast and be on our way,’ Fidelmareplied, realising that the morning hour was growing late.

After breakfast, Archú announced that he and Scoth would part company with them. The way to Archú’s farmstead could be reached from this point without going towards the rath of Araglin. Archú and Scoth offered to spend an hour or two with Bressal helping him clean the hostel and repair the thatch while Fidelma and Eadulf continued on towards Araglin.

It was Bressal who suggested Fidelma and Eadulf might like to keep the weapons they had borrowed from him.

‘As you have seen, I am not proficient with weapons. From what you tell me, these bandits rode off in the direction of Araglin and you do not want to encounter them unarmed along the way.’

Eadulf was about to accept the weapons but Fidelma pressed them back on Bressal with a shake of her head.

‘We do not live by the sword. According to the blessed Matthew, the Christ told Peter that all who take the path of the sword shall perish by the sword. It is better to go into the world unarmed.’

Bressal grimaced wryly: ‘Better to go out into the world able to defend yourself against those who are prepared to live by the sword.’

It was not until they were well on the path to Araglin that Eadulf challenged Fidelma on her unspoken interruption when he was about to voice his suspicion as to the origin of the attackers.

‘Why did you not want me to point out what was only logical?’

‘That the so-called bandits were probably from Araglin itself?’

‘You suspect Muadnat, don’t you?’ he said, nodding agreement.

Fidelma repudiated the idea.

‘I have no reason to suspect him. To bring up the question might put fear into Archú and Scoth unnecessarily. There are many other possibilities. Bressal might not be telling the truth when he says he knows of no enemies. This may, indeed, be simply an attack by illogical bandits. Or the attack may well have something to do with the death of Eber.’

The other possibilities had not entered Eadulf’s mind but he was not convinced.

‘You mean that someone involved with Eber’s death could be trying to prevent your investigation?’ he asked sceptically.

‘I put it forward as an alternative to what you are suggesting, Eadulf. But I do not say that it provides the answer. We must be vigilant but assumptions without evidence can lead to a dangerous path.’