‘So no woodsmen, strangers or otherwise, have passed here today?’ Fidelma interrupted crossly. Her harshness was not really directed at the couple but was caused by Enda’s indiscreet boastfulness.
The couple exchanged another nervous glance.
‘No one has passed this way before you,’ the farmer finally said slowly. ‘Were you expecting to encounter someone?’
Enda could not help seeing the black humour and he did not restrain an outburst of laughter. ‘Our encounter with them was the last thing we were expecting.’
‘I have no understanding of what you say, warrior.’ Tassach was puzzled.
‘Two woodsmen tried to ambush us on the way here,’ Eadulf explained. ‘They paid for their folly.’
Tassach’s wife looked nervously about her, as if expecting them to appear. ‘Where are they now?’
‘Dead,’ replied Enda laconically.
The couple looked shocked. ‘Who were they?’ asked Tassach, after a few moments.
‘I think that is what the lady Fidelma was trying to ask.’
Fidelma interrupted with a sigh of exasperation. ‘They lay in wait for us on this very track, some four kilometres north of here.’
‘We did not see them, lady,’ repeated the farmer in a resolute tone. ‘And from what you say, they will not pass us now.’
Enda suppressed a guffaw. ‘There is truth in that.’
‘As my escort tells you, they paid the price for their failure,’ Fidelma said. ‘They had not observed that he is a warrior of the Nasc Niadh and they did not have the skills to achieve their purpose. Where is the dwelling of your local Brehon?’
Anglas shrugged and glanced at her husband before replying. ‘One would probably have to ride back to the abbey from where you have come from to find one. There is no Brehon nearer.’
‘Or the lord Artgal might have his Brehon in attendance at Ard Nemed,’ suggested Tassach. ‘But the abbey would be nearer.’
‘We cannot delay our journey,’ Fidelma said. ‘Do you have a horse here?’
‘A horse, lady? No, but I have a good mule. But why? You have horses.’
‘As you say, it is a short journey back to the abbey. The two bodies of the assassins must be reported to a Brehon or a priest and buried, and while we do not have the time to delay, you could ride back to the abbey and report the matter.’ She reached into her marsupium and drew forth the collection of coins she had retrieved from the attackers’ bodies and handed them to the farmer. ‘This should cover you for the inconvenience and ensure they get buried.’
Tassach gazed at the coins with a bleak expression before nodding slowly. ‘You are generous, lady.’
Fidelma turned to her horse. ‘Now we will take our leave. Thank you for the directions, and we thank you for undertaking the journey to report back to the abbey about the murdered ambushers.’
With Enda once more in the lead on his warhorse, they made their way across the small plank bridge over the stream, which was not deep, and set off eastwards. The sun was climbing swiftly to its winter zenith, pale and without much heat. However, the day had turned out to be surprisingly mild and the clouds in the sky were not moving at all, showing the threatened winds had not materialised. Although it was not yet midday Fidelma was slightly nervous, wondering how long it would take to reach the riverside settlement and find the ferryman that Tassach had recommended. Tassach had said the place was no great distance but it lay through the marshland, which would slow their progress, and it was the time of year when darkness came with an early rapidity. They had to negotiate transport across this channel to the island and find the fortress of Artgal. She knew it was called the Great Island in reference to its size and wondered whether they would be able to reach the fortress before nightfall. She realised that might be impossible.
She felt that she had better not set her hopes too high. Perhaps it would be sensible to rest in the fishing settlement and, if she could negotiate with Fécho, travel to the island in the morning. She felt uneasy at doing so, her thoughts returning to the attempted ambush. Once more she cursed the geis that had been placed on her and forbade her to discuss the situation with Eadulf and Enda. What if her enemies had planned for the possibility that the ambush on the track might fail? What if they had made contingent plans for another attack along the way and she had not forewarned her companions? Her thoughts were turning rapidly.
‘Lady!’
It was a low call from Enda. He was pointing to the high evergreens and she saw the leaves were beginning to flutter. There was a wind growing in strength from the north-east and that meant the night would be a chill one. She suppressed a curse. Just as she had been thinking that the day was mild and the threat of wind had ebbed away, the weather had changed. She acknowledged the watchful eyes of Enda and sighed. The main thing now was to pass in safety along this marshland path, rather than thinking ahead about reaching Artgal’s fortress. Yes, better to rest in the fishing village this night before negotiating with Fécho the boatman in the morning.
She had been right. The early winter dusk was descending by the time they had passed through the marshes and emerged on the bank of the river. It was cold as well as gloomy when they took what appeared to be a road running alongside the river. Eadulf, who had studied such matters as the laws on roadways, realised it was a ró-shéit. The laws classified all manner of roads and stipulated how they had to be maintained, under pain of fines by the local clan and their chieftain. On one side of this road was the dark river and on the other was an artificial ditch, carefully cleared and maintained to keep the path well drained for the passage of wheeled vehicles. Enda looked up and down the road.
‘I can see lights to the north, lady,’ he said. ‘The settlement of fishermen that we seek is probably in that direction.’
‘Even if it is not, at least where there are lights there are people, and we can find hospitality from the dark and chill of this evening,’ Fidelma agreed.
They turned and made their way north. Night was coming down swiftly now, and the darkness was compounded by thick clouds. The rushing sound of the fast-flowing waters on their right was their guide along the darkening road while the blackness of the woods from which they had emerged showed the now impenetrable western border to their route. The birdsong from this darkness had changed with the ending of the light, and they could heard the plaintive ‘hoon hoon’ sound of the ceann cait, the long-eared owl, surveying its territory before going off to hunt mice or even rats and shrews. Other nocturnal creatures were beginning to stir. They could hear rustling in the undergrowth but could not even see the passing of a shadow.
Thankfully the lights grew nearer and ahead the path rose to high ground, overlooking the almost invisible river on their right. Now they could just make out the black outline of buildings and the whipping flames of several brand torches placed on stakes at strategic points, as well as a glow from what they later found to be two or three braziers in the centre of the complex. Knowing how nervous some of these isolated communities could be, especially in borderlands such as this, Fidelma suggested to Enda that he hail the community as they approached instead of coming on the settlement without warning.
Enda raised his voice.
‘Hello, the village!’ he shouted as he advanced to the buildings.
There were a few shouts of query and alarm. Fidelma called on her companions to halt at the first of the buildings.
A light moved closer and a voice demanded to know who they were and what their business was.
‘We are just strangers seeking hospitality of shelter and food and warmth against the cold of this night,’ Fidelma replied.
A figure stepped forward, holding aloft his torch to examine them. They had the impression that many other people had come too, and were surveying them from the shelter of darkness.
‘Just strangers?’ There was almost a sneer in the man’s voice. ‘Your comrade cannot hide the sparkle on the golden torc he wears around his neck. Nor am I fool enoug
h not to recognise the emblem of the Nasc Niadh, the Bodyguard to the King of Cashel, when I see it.’
This brought forth an intense whispering in the crowd. Fidelma hoped they would not notice that Enda’s hand had fallen defensively to the hilt of his sword in the sheath at his side.
‘We are just strangers to your community,’ Fidelma answered quickly, but decided there was nothing to be gained by trying to disguise the truth. ‘You have good eyes, my friend. I am Fidelma of Cashel, accompanied by my husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, and Enda of the Nasc Niadh.’
This was met by excited muttering from the hidden onlookers.
‘This is a long way from Cashel,’ replied the still suspicious voice.
‘No area of the kingdom is a long way from the capital of the kingdom and the palace of Colgú, your King and my brother.’ She felt she should remind them of their allegiance, even if distant, to Cashel.
There was a hesitation and more whispering. Then the same voice answered. ‘You will forgive our suspicions, lady. We have cause for them. However, come forward. You and your companions are most welcome and our hospitality is yours.’
They moved their horses forward into the centre of the settlement and halted. Quite a few people now dispersed but there were still many who stood watching them: men, woman and several children. A man had come forward to greet them as they dismounted, the same man who had invited them to enter. He examined each of them carefully before nodding, as if accepting their identities.
‘We have a small hostel here, lady, but its beds are clean, the food is good and the drink is better. I am Cogadháin, the innkeeper, and you are welcome.’
‘Cogadháin? That is a warlike name for one who runs an inn,’ Fidelma commented with a smile. Even Eadulf realised the name meant ‘hound of war’.
The innkeeper chuckled. ‘Well spoken, lady, but I should point out that I am also the toisech, the leader, of this community.’ He turned to Enda and pointed to a building nearby. ‘That is the stable; you may quarter your horses in there. My son, Cogeráin, will help you.’ He pointed out a boy holding a lantern. ‘Now let me welcome you into my inn, lady, and you, too, Brother …?’
‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ Eadulf answered.
‘This is an isolated community,’ the innkeeper began as he turned and led the way to the inn door. ‘Is it by design that you come here, or are you passing on your way somewhere else?’
‘We are passing,’ said Fidelma, falling into step with him as Enda took their horses, with the help of the sturdy lad, towards the stables. ‘But we are also here in search of someone who we were told would facilitate our journey. We were told that we would find Fécho, a boatman, here.’
Cogadháin halted abruptly and turned. There was suspicion in his voice again. ‘Where were you expecting Fécho to transport you to?’
Fidelma nearly told him sharply that that was her business, but she realised that attitude would be non-productive.
‘We were hoping that he would hire his boat to cross the river.’
‘Is there a problem? This man, Fécho, can be found here, we presume?’ Eadulf caught the man’s deepening frown.
Cogadháin gazed at him thoughtfully and then nodded. His face, in the shadowy light of the lantern above the tavern door, seemed worried.
‘Oh yes, he is here and I will send for him, if you wish it.’
‘I do so wish it,’ Fidelma confirmed, wondering at the strangeness of the man’s manner.
‘And we presume that he still runs his boat to take us across the water?’ Eadulf added.
‘He still runs both his boats in these waters, for he is a coastal trader. But I do not think he will take you across to the Great Island at this time.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Why do you believe that he would refuse us?’ she demanded.
The innkeeper scratched his ear thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you came on the track from the west and joined the road along the river bank as darkness was falling?’
‘We did,’ she answered shortly.
‘Then you may not have noticed the rising smoke to the east. I suppose the darkness and clouds obscured it from your vision?’
‘I have no understanding of what you are talking about.’ She was bewildered.
‘The rising smoke is on the Great Island,’ he said. ‘We have been watching the fires and smoke since early morning, lady.’
‘What does that indicate?’ Fidelma was still puzzled.
‘It means that there has been an attack on the island. The only raiders who would do so, who would be capable of attacking our prince, Lord Artgal, who is now with some of his warriors in the fortress of Ard Nemed, are the thrice-cursed Uí Liatháin. All day the fires have burned but we have heard no word from across the river, no word of victor or vanquished. We fear the worst.’
‘Are you saying that the Uí Liatháin have launched a major attack on the island?’ Eadulf asked in surprise. ‘Then why did the people here not go to help your prince?’
Cogadháin shrugged eloquently. ‘We have barely a score of able men here and no one who knows the profession of a warrior. We are fisherfolk and traders. What were we expected to do? What more could we do than Artgal and his catha, his companies of trained warriors? It looks from the rising smoke of the farmsteads that not even Artgal could hold back the Uí Liatháin.’
CHAPTER SIX
Fécho was not what they had been expecting when he finally appeared at the inn of Cogadháin. A boatman conjured up an image of someone like Imchad, who had been short and stocky with prominent muscles and weather-beaten skin, browned by the reflected sun on the waters as well as the winds. It conjured an image of a man who was hard, solid and immovable as a rock. Fécho was the very antithesis of this. He was fair skinned, tall, with wispy fair hair, and seemed ill nourished, not muscular at all. He had a solemn expression, a drooping mouth and sad eyes, as if he were in a permanent state of mourning. He spoke so softly that several times Eadulf found himself leaning forward to catch his words.
‘It is dangerous, lady,’ he replied, after Fidelma had made her request.
‘But not impossible?’ she pressed.
‘Impossible?’ The boatman grimaced, and she wondered if she had seen the ghost of humour on his lips but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure. ‘Isn’t it said by the ancients that “impossible” is an unlucky word, for those who utter it find that it is always disproved by their rivals?’
Fidelma acknowledged the man’s words with a brief smile.
‘So you believe there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome?’
‘Not of the sort you are implying,’ replied Fécho. ‘You want to know if I am prepared to risk my boat to cross to the island in spite of what we have seen, the rising smoke.’
‘Would you land us and our horses there in spite of the attacks that the innkeeper has interpreted as the cause of the fires and smoke? Are you prepared to take us across in spite of that?’
Fécho was reflective. ‘There would be two conditions. I would land you on the south shore of the island, for the fires seem to have raged on the north side.’
‘And the second condition?’
‘The price,’ the boatman answered readily. Then he added: ‘Why would you want to go to the island? Cogadháin, the innkeeper, tells me you are Sister Fidelma. That is perplexing. There’s no religious community on Ard Nemed. In fact, I don’t think there are any religious there at all. So it seems doubtful that religion takes you there. Yet you travel with a foreign religieux and a warrior of the Golden Collar. I am intrigued.’
‘Did Cogadháin not tell you that I am sister to King Colgú of Cashel, and now his legal advisor and no longer of the religious.’
Fécho’s eyes widened a fraction and a look of comprehension spread over his features. ‘He neglected that fact. So, you are an Eóganacht, as is Prince Artgal. Is that why you go to Ard Nemed?’
‘You are fond of making deductions,’ observed Fidelma suspiciously.
‘As you are, I have heard,’ replied Fécho with a smile. ‘It seems logical that you are here to see the prince of the Cenél nÁeda. Artgal is known to be at his fortress on the island, attempting to dissuade the Uí Liatháin from attacking it. I conclude that you have come to see Artgal on that matter … that is, if he still lives.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘You sound pessimistic.’
The boatman stretched in a leisurely way, at the same time gesturing with his thumb towards the east, the direction of the island.
‘We know that Prince Artgal has only a hundred warriors with him. Ah, perhaps you have come to negotiate the intervention of warriors from Cashel?’
‘Surely Artgal and a hundred warriors are enough to protect the island from these raids?’ Enda intervened, annoyed by the boatman’s attitude.
‘You think that the Uí Liáthain send a bunch of cow herders to attack the settlements on Ard Nemed?’ replied Fécho cynically.
Enda was about to reply but Fidelma raised a hand, motioning him to be silent.
‘Are you saying that the leader of the Uí Liatháin sent his warriors to attack the island?’ she demanded. ‘Prince Tolmanach is surely an old man, and has been at peace with all his neighbours for many years.’
Fécho pursed his lips into an incredulous expression. ‘News travels slowly. Tolmanach died nine days since. It is his son, Tomaltaid, who rules the Uí Liatháin now. He is a young and ambitious man whose very name suits his character.’
Eadulf looked blank and Fidelma felt obliged to explain. ‘The name means “one that goads or threatens”,’ she explained before turning back to the boatman. ‘So you believe this was a concerted attack by the new prince of the Uí Liatháin to claim the island?’
‘It seems logical that he would choose this time to secure his position with his own people by expanding their territory with the seizure of Ard Nemed, a place the Uí Liatháin have long claimed as their own.’
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