‘Since we were recognised, it serves no purpose.’
‘Do not forget that you have only to ask and I shall see to any wants that you may have. Just request and I shall ensure it is fulfilled.’
‘That is kind of you. At the moment, there is little we want, for we are about to ride to the township where we have been told the pedlar, the one who found the body, lives.’
A disapproving look passed over the steward’s features.
‘“Lives” is a loose term. I do not call his existence living. I fear that he is a godless drunkard, and what little he gets from his infrequent trading trips through the mountains, he spends in the taverns there. Whether you will get any sense from him, I would not like to wager on it. Still, it is just a week since his last trip so he might have run out of the means to buy liquor and you might find him sober.’
‘Let us hope so, for I was hoping he could show us exactly where he found the body of Brehon Brocc,’ Fidelma responded.
The steward looked even more disapproving. ‘I would not put much trust in that pedlar. Cétach is well known for his unreliability.’
‘The problem is that we will never find the exact spot unless he identifies it,’ pointed out Eadulf firmly. ‘The testimony of the pedlar is important.’
Brother Aithrigid shrugged. ‘You will know your own business. I can only warn you not to trust Cétach.’ He hesitated. ‘But I do not want you to think this matter has left me un-affected. Princess Gelgéis was a distant cousin of mine, although the abbot is of a closer branch of the family. I also understand something of your professional thinking. I am qualified to prepare judgments in law.’
‘You are qualified in law?’
‘I am,’ affirmed the steward almost complacently. ‘But only to the level of Aire Árd, and such was my role in the Abbey of Scuithin in Osraige until I came to join the abbey here. That is why I am accepted as steward.’
‘We have noted your warning about the pedlar,’ Fidelma said, ‘but I have to find out if Cétach can tell us more.’
‘It is up to you. But, as I say, I do not think Cétach will be of much help. Let me know if you need anything.’ The steward turned with a quick nod of farewell and walked back to the abbey buildings as Enda was returning with their horses.
Eadulf stared after Brother Aithrigid for a moment with a frown.
‘What are you thinking?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Just that it is curious that there seem to be so many people from Osraige in this abbey.’
SEVEN
They rode their horses at a walking pace along the track that led towards the little township by the confluence of rivers, which had been identified to them as the place of the old ruins. Láithreach was, in fact, only a short ride from the abbey. They entered the township and found it comprised of fewer than two score of homes, with several buildings clearly used for the storage of goods. Most of these stood by wharfs along the river, where a number of large river-going vessels were moored. Eadulf immediately became aware of the significance of the location, for the meeting of the rivers was perfect for traders to gather. Apart from the smaller river that ran by the Abbey of Cáemgen there was one great river flowing from the north-west and another from the north-east joining into the Great River – as Brother Eochaí called it – that flowed south. Láithreach had grown to a strategic position on this major waterway. The Great River, the three visitors had been told, eventually flowed into the eastern ocean, beyond which was the Britannic Island.
They had to negotiate a bridge that led into the central square. It was the ideal location for taverns, blacksmiths, carpenters and other artisans because traders took advantage of the natural meeting points of both the rivers and the tracks. In fact, there was hardly any sign here of buildings of private residence other than those devoted to trade of one sort or another.
One thing caught Eadulf’s curiosity. Each building seemed to have a bunch of yellow flowers hanging over the main door. When he peered closely he realised that they were sprigs of furze; gorse whose yellow blossoms were only just beginning to show their small petals to the world. He pointed them out to Fidelma but she shrugged.
‘It must signify some local festival,’ she dismissed. ‘Maybe it is a symbol of Cáemgen, the founder the abbey.’
‘For a person seeking a hermitage to live a life of isolated contemplation, the Blessed Cáemgen could hardly have chosen a location less suited to remain isolated,’ Eadulf observed dryly.
‘I heard his story from Brother Eochaí last night,’ Enda joined in. ‘Cáemgen tried to retreat into the mountain caves but it was his disciples who built the abbey. From what I learnt, this Cáemgen was a man of strange ideas.’
Eadulf glanced at him with interest. ‘What sort of strange ideas?’
‘Oh, Brother Eochaí said he was a prince of royal blood and quite handsome, with many admirers among women. When he joined the religious he became one of those curious fanatics who turn to hate all women because, he claimed, the Faith taught that the woman Eve had brought the curse of God on all mankind by disobeying God’s law and tempting Adam, which caused them to be driven from the Garden of Eden.’
Fidelma snorted indignantly but said nothing.
‘I suppose each must follow their own belief,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘I know a lot of religious fanatics hate women on those grounds.’
‘This Cáemgen was even more extreme,’ Enda warmed to the subject. ‘Brother Eochaí said the abbey possesses a life story of their founder in which it says that a young princess fell in love with him. Thinking that he was too modest and self-conscious to declare his love for her, she was bold enough to declare her love for him.’
‘Very natural,’ Fidelma commented. ‘So what happened?’
‘They were apparently walking in the woods. When she admitted her love for him, Cáemgen went berserk, tore off all his clothes and flung himself into a nearby bed of nettles, rolling back and forth so that they stung and burnt his entire body. The girl was horrified. But worse was to come. Cáemgen rose and, taking handfuls of the stinging plants, he rubbed them over the girl’s face and arms, causing her to cry out from the pain he inflicted on her.’
‘And then?’ Fidelma demanded. ‘Was he punished for the infliction of such pain and suffering on a young girl?’
‘Apparently not,’ Enda replied. ‘When challenged under the law, all he said was “the fire without extinguished the fire within”. The excuse being that he had done it for the good of the girl’s immortal soul and so that she would not slip into licentiousness with men.’
Fidelma’s lips thinned. ‘So it was a question of women being made to suffer for man’s vanity. I cannot see a Brehon approving such an action that is contrary to the law of the Five Kingdoms. Was the man not charged under the laws? Our laws are quite unambiguous about injuries caused to women, especially any injuries inflicted by men. Such things are dealt with harshly. Was this Cáemgen severely punished?’
‘As you have seen, lady, he is now regarded as a saintly person, renowned for his piety and the founder of this abbey,’ responded Enda, after a moment’s thought. ‘Sometimes I find aspects of the New Faith hard to understand.’
‘Perhaps we should not judge him too harshly,’ Eadulf offered. ‘Maybe he had other redeeming qualities?’
‘We must judge only on the person presented in the story,’ Fidelma replied in annoyance. ‘If it happened in reality and this is not just a story, then he would be found guilty of a number of transgressions against women, and punished.’
They fell silent as they entered the square. There seemed much activity to the side that bordered on the wooden quays, where a number of boats were moored from which merchants were offloading and loading, according to their business priorities. There was a constant movement of horses, mules and carts and, rising above all these sounds, people shouting to advertise their wares, announcing such bargains as Fidelma had grown used to seeing in major townships. Here, in the small area among the tall mountains
, it seemed incongruous. They halted their horses and examined the scene with interest.
Fidelma turned to Enda with a smile. ‘Well, I am sure this place should disperse any spectral beings you might be worried about from the stories you heard last night.’
Enda examined the busy port and seemed more relaxed. ‘Certainly it is a sanctuary from the isolated dark valleys and gloomy peaks,’ he agreed.
‘Now we have to find Cétach,’ Eadulf reminded them.
‘If Brother Aithrigid’s estimate of the pedlar’s character is to be relied on, then we should make for the first tavern we can see and enquire for him there,’ Fidelma replied.
It seemed an easy task because they were outside a rough wooden building whose appearance and odours announced it as exactly the sort of place they were looking for. It was nothing like the usual taverns to be found in most of the small settlements and towns; places where people could eat, drink and get rooms for the night. This appeared to be a single-roomed tábhairne or, as it was often called, a ‘tippling house’, where people just went to drink. It seemed a fairly popular place as it was crowded within, a few people sitting outside. These drinkers, muscular and strong looking, appeared to be workers who manually carried goods to and from the boats or carts of merchants. The place was not smart enough to be frequented by merchants of status or artisans. There was a wooden rail to hitch their horses and so Fidelma, Eadulf and Enda dismounted and did so.
Eadulf looked round with interest at the adjacent buildings. Each housed various artisans and traders. One such business immediately caught his eye. A short distance from the tábhairne was a carpenter’s workshop. He could see a tall and muscular middle-aged man with greying hair apparently constructing the wheel spokes for a wagon, chiselling the spokes with mallet and sharp chisel. But it was a younger man that caught his attention. He was seated at a bench outside the carpenter’s shop with a quiver of arrows at his feet. Moreover, the young man seemed to be fletching: putting the flight on a lengthy strip of yew. It was the colouring of the flight that had caused Eadulf to look twice.
He turned to Fidelma. ‘Could I have that arrow that Brother Lachtna gave you for a moment? Something occurs to me.’
Fidelma regarded him with momentary uncertainty and then reached into her saddle bag and took out the arrow. Eadulf took it and made his way to where the young man was busy, concentrating on his task.
‘Good day to you, my friend,’ he greeted. ‘I see you are a fletcher who knows his art.’
The young man stopped and glanced up, taking in Eadulf’s appearance and tonsure. He then returned the greeting.
‘I suppose you are from the abbey?’
‘I am staying there,’ Eadulf confirmed. ‘I saw you working and wondered if you could give me your opinion on this.’ He held out the arrow.
‘You want me to make more arrows like this?’ asked the puzzled young man, glancing at it.
‘Not exactly. I want to know something about it.’
‘Something about it?’ The young man sounded confused.
The older man had now ceased his own work on the wheel spokes. He rose and came out to stand by his young companion, frowning in curiosity at Eadulf and the arrow he was holding.
‘Good day, Brother. What is it you want from my son?’
Eadulf could hear a slight note of suspicion in his tone and he turned to him with a friendly smile. ‘I just wanted the opinion on this arrow from a professional maker of arrows, especially a fletcher.’
The carpenter’s frown deepened. ‘Why?’ he asked sharply. ‘Are the religious taking up archery to persuade people to come to chapel?’
Eadulf forced a chuckle, although there had been no humour in the man’s voice. ‘We would prefer to persuade them in a more gentle fashion, my friend. Perhaps that is a good suggestion as a means to induce the more reluctant members of our flock to attend the mass. I am merely seeking information on this type of arrow.’
There was no alteration to the carpenter’s expression.
‘Why would you want information on this arrow?’
Eadulf tried to keep his expression friendly. He thought rapidly. ‘I am a stranger to your country. I was trying to compare it to the arrows made in my land. That brass head, for example, I have not seen the like before.’ In truth, Eadulf did not know whether the Angles or the Saxons used brass arrowheads but he thought the man might not know either.
The carpenter was not entirely satisfied. ‘For what purpose?’
‘Truly, for no other purpose than my own curiosity,’ Eadulf assured him, hoping he sounded sincere. ‘The ordinary folk in my land usually sharpen the tip of the wood to a point, heating it in the fire to harden it. Alternatively they use a sharpened flint. I was surprised when I found this arrow discarded in the mountains with a brass head on it. Surely that would be the sign of it belonging to someone of wealth to be able to get his smith to cast it? Also, I was thinking, such arrows may be of worth and the owner would be delighted for its return.’
The carpenter unbent a little. ‘Brother Foreigner, you are among The Cuala. These mountains are rich in metals. The smelting of zinc-rich copper to make brass objects has been known here from the time beyond time. Many of our hunting horns are cast from brass and have been so back beyond memory.’
‘I see,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘So such arrowheads would be common? This type of arrow could be used by anyone?’
‘They would not be very common,’ replied the man cautiously. ‘You would need to be able to afford them, and if you were hunting regularly then it would be cheaper to sharpen the wood, as you say, in the old manner.’
Eadulf felt he should try to ward off the man’s suspicious attitude.
‘This is interesting, for it would be unusual in my country—’
‘Which is?’ demanded the carpenter, obviously determined not to be deflected. ‘I was once told by a wandering merchant that the Greeks and Romans used brass in this fashion.’
‘I am from one of the kingdoms of the Angles.’
‘Where is that?’
‘Among the Saxons.’ Eadulf felt he had to accept the term more popularly used in Fidelma’s country for the men of his own kingdoms.
‘So you are a Saxon?’
Eadulf swallowed his pride and nodded quickly. ‘I would like to know more about the arrow because it seems so well crafted compared to those arrows produced by my people. Look at the craftsmanship that must have gone into the metal mould for the tip.’
The carpenter examined the arrow with less suspicion. ‘There is little out of the ordinary about it.’
‘What about the flights?’ Eadulf pressed.
‘The flight on the arrow is of feathers from a peregrine falcon and the dye on them proclaims the arrow to be used by Uí Máil, usually by warriors rather than folk hunting for food. Also,’ the carpenter actually managed to chuckle, ‘the fletcher who made the arrow was left handed.’
Eadulf was excited at the mention of the use of the left hand. ‘How can you say that with such certainty?’
‘The way the flight – that is, the feathers – is placed and, indeed, when you examine it you will find it is from the primary wing feathers. Some fletchers use tail feathers. But you can feel that the quill has an oval feel to it instead of the round stem like other birds. The peregrine’s wing feathers are made for speed. In spite of the dye you can glimpse the original patterns, and my opinion is that it is the left wing of the bird because of the way they run, and it was placed in position by a fletcher who was probably left handed and preferred it to run so. It might even indicate the bowman himself was left handed, but that is uncertain.’
‘You said the colouring of the feather indicated it was of the Uí Máil? Where do they dwell?’
For a moment the carpenter appeared surprised and then he grimaced apologetically. ‘I forget that you are of another kingdom, Brother Foreigner. We pay tribute to the Uí Máil.’ He waved his hand around him to make the point. ‘The lord of The Cuala i
s a noble of the Uí Máil. He is the uncle to King Fianamail.’
‘You mean the local noble is related to Fianamail, the King of Laigin?’
The man stared at Eadulf as if he were a half-wit. ‘Have I not said so?’
Eadulf turned away excitedly, still clutching the arrow, and made his way back to Fidelma and Enda, who were impatiently standing by the hitching rail outside the tábhairne. He handed the arrow back to her with a self-satisfied smile.
‘You have learnt something?’ she prompted.
He quickly explained the gist of the conversation. ‘At least we definitely know we are looking for a left-handed man,’ he finished.
To his disappointment, Fidelma dismissed his information. ‘That does not really help us in finding the killer or abductor of the princess.’
‘At least we have confirmed that he is left handed,’ protested Eadulf.
‘Or that she is left handed,’ she corrected. ‘So do you think a left-handed person is unique in this world?’
Eadulf pursed his lips in a sulky expression. ‘There are fewer of them than right-handed people.’
‘That is true. But how many fewer? Old Brother Conchobhair once told me that if you lined up ten people at random and asked them what hand they used, one of them would be a cittach, a left-handed person.’
‘Oh, come … as many as that?’
‘When Brother Aithrigid greeted us, I suppose you noticed what hand he used to do so?’
Eadulf shook his head.
‘When we sat with the abbot did you notice which hand he favoured?’ she went on.
‘No, but—’
‘In fact, you should have known anyway because my brother told us the abbot was known by a nickname – Daircell Ciotóg – Daircell the Left-handed. So you see, Eadulf, left-handed people are more numerous than you think. The fact of the left-handedness alone does not help us in our search. However, it does apparently confirm what the physician has told us.’
‘Hey!’
There was an angry exclamation behind them. They turned to find a short, dirty-looking man, wearing a leather apron over his sweat-stained clothes, standing on the steps of the tábhairne. He stood scowling, hands on hips, showing strong muscular arms.
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