Enda shifted his weight and his hand automatically closed on his sword hilt.
‘Then perhaps it is time that they were persuaded to show some respect to their King and those who represent him,’ he replied sharply.
Fidelma, who had come across the deck to look at the shore, overheard what he was saying and shot him a disapproving glance.
‘That is not our purpose here, Enda,’ she rebuked, turning and moving back to where Fécho watched the approach of the landing stage. ‘I have never entered Uí Liatháin from this direction and certainly not this far south,’ she told him. ‘I always came on horseback from the north and was usually accorded the hospitality of Tolmanach at his fortress in the north of the territory.’
‘Caislean Uí Liatháin is a long way north,’ the boatman agreed. ‘Even Tomaltaid, the new prince, might find it difficult to rule these people. This is the southern half of his land, and they are a strange people, these southerners. They claim they are related to the Uí Fidgenti. They do not even obey their own princes, and they certainly do not acknowledge the authority of the King at Cashel.’
Fidelma raised her brows in an expression of concern. ‘Then what sort of territory are we coming to?’
‘This land is called Achadh Fhada, the Long Field, and all the land in between here and the Hill of the Yew Wood, the settlement of Eochaill, where you find the estuary of the great river Abhainn Dubh, is southern Uí Liatháin territory ruled by a noble called Glaisne. He is a ruthless man, by all accounts. One who prefers to rule by fear instead of law.’ He grimaced. ‘Did you know that the wife of the High King, the lady Grella, is a princess of these people and distant cousin to Glaisne?’
She did not reply directly but asked: ‘And you say this is called the Long Field?’
‘Yes, the territory around this inlet and beyond,’ confirmed Fécho, indicating it with one hand. ‘It is a fertile land and perhaps the most peaceful corner of the territory. I trade goods for their wheat and barley, and they have ample livestock here. Just south of this inlet …’ He pointed to the wooded land on their right. ‘That is called the Promontory of Tialláin, Ros Tialláin. He is the local chieftain whom I spoke to you about.’
Enda came to join them, intersted in what the captain had to say.
‘Tialláin respects only two things … power and financial reward,’ Fécho added.
Enda opened his mouth, about to remark that Tialláin ought to respect Fidelma, but she had motioned him to silence.
‘How long will it take us to ride to Cluain from here?’ she asked.
Fécho frowned. ‘You still insist on riding through this territory to Cluain?’
‘We want to see the Abbey of Cluain before we continue on to the estuary of the Great River, as I told you.’
Fécho shook his head. ‘And as I told you, there is nothing there, lady. That place has long been deserted. The Blessed Colmán mac Léine, who made it his principal abbey, died nearly a hundred years ago. I tried to convince you last night that it is abandoned. There are only ruins there.’
‘How do you know that for a fact?’ Fidelma pressed.
‘Oh … I have heard it said. I have never ventured so far east beyond Ros Tialláin – never would,’ replied Fécho, looking serious. ‘So far as I know, the old abbey was abandoned long ago. Why would you want to go there?’
Fidelma looked up and found that Eadulf and Enda were also waiting for her response. She could feel their ill-concealed curiosity. Once more she wished that she could break the geis and tell them everything.
‘We intend to ride to Eochaill, the Hill of the Yew, anyway,’ she said tersely. ‘Then we can make our way north up the Great River to Lios Mhór and then home to Cashel.’ She turned back to Fécho. ‘So you have never been to Cluain?’
Fécho shrugged. ‘I know it is east of here. Perhaps there is a trail that the locals would know. For myself, lady, I am content to keep to the waters around the Great Island. I have no need to see what lies beyond. With the shortening days, however, I suggest that you delay your departure from here until tomorrow morning.’ He turned and realised the waters had quickened and his attention was needed to help guide the vessel to the landing jetty.
They knew that their approach had been spotted because they heard the traditional long warning blast of a stoc, a bugle. But the woods around the settlement were so thick they could not see anyone apart from a few people on the jetty, watching their approach. They had no doubt their arrival was being cautiously evaluated, in case they were hostile. However, as they got closer to the jetty where the trees thinned, they could see movement along the right bank. Fécho’s ship had obviously been recognised – the stocaire sounded three short rapid blasts, indicating the newcomers were friends. Though the portal stone still held an aura of menace, they could now observe, stretching up the bank from the jetty, a circle of domestic buildings. Unusually for a southern seaport, there was no high wooden stockade around the settlement to protect the inhabitants from sea raiders. Some interested spectators were now making their way down to the jetty, while others seemed to be carrying on with their pursuits, indifferent to the new arrivals.
Eadulf examined the place named Tialláin’s promontory without enthusiasm. Enda seemed to agree with his assessment for he turned to Fidelma.
‘I know you can’t tell us of your purpose here, but if we are to return to Cashel it is an easy journey back on the mainland. As Fécho indicates, and as we saw at Ard Nemed, the stories about the lawlessness of this land of the grey people seem true enough.’
Fidelma drew her brows together in annoyance. ‘We are here because the task that I have been given has not yet been fulfilled,’ she replied shortly.
‘But we still have no understanding of what that task is,’ the young warrior complained, exasperated. ‘My task is to protect you and friend Eadulf here. How am I to do that, if I know not what I am protecting you from?’
Fidelma’s face darkened but before she could reply Eadulf cut in with a forced smile.
‘I am sure that Fidelma will be able to tell you soon,’ he assured the warrior. ‘But perhaps this is not the best place to do so?’ He nodded at the curious onlookers standing nearby, who seemed to include a number of armed men.
‘Enda, I can assure you, and Eadulf, that before we leave Cluain you shall know the details of the task I have been asked to fulfil. Unfortunately, we must reach Cluain first; after that, we can continue east to An Abhainn Mhór, the Great River.’
‘And what do you expect to find at this place called Cluain?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘Expect? When you pursue the unknown, you expect nothing or much trouble,’ she returned irritably. ‘Enough. You will know when the time comes. Once we have disembarked, we should find an inn where we can refresh ourselves. If, as Fécho has said, we would not reach Cluain before nightfall, then we will have to stay here. Curse these midwinter days – they are not the best of times to travel. Hardly has the day begun than night closes in.’
Eadulf suppressed a sigh of resignation. They had indeed already been on a long and exhausting journey to this point. He, too, would have preferred the days to be longer, so they could complete their journey in a more relaxed fashion.
They were aware now of the growing noise of people crowding on the quayside to help make the ship secure and shout questions to Fécho and his crew. Apparently the Tonn Cliodhna was well known in this little haven. Once again, Fidelma had to admire the dexterity with which Fécho and his crew were able to berth the ship. Again, and with the minimum of fuss, the side panel of the ship was unbolted, the horses untied and led across the jetty to firm land.
Fidelma asked the boat owner: ‘Is there a burden, an inn, where we can stay here?’
Fécho pointed to the hill overlooking the harbour and a substantial log building on the steep slopes.
‘There is an inn there. It’s a good place and has a stable for the horses.’
‘Then we shall stay there and continue our journey t
omorrow.’
‘Well, lady,’ Fécho said almost with regret, ‘I wish you well in your curious journeying. It will surely take you a long time to reach Cashel on the route you have chosen. Still, good luck – and I am here for a while, for I intend to see whether there is a cargo I can pick up. So if you change your mind and need to return the way you have come, let me know.’
‘Thank you for your offer, Fécho,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘But we ride on to the Hill of the Yew as soon as possible.’
While Fidelma and Fécho settled the matter of the fee and the boat owner was released from the responsibility of the honour prices of the King’s sister and her entourage, Enda and Eadulf began leading their horses up the path towards the inn. None of the locals seemed particularly interested in them; no one challenged them or even greeted them, apart from with the occasional nod.
Fidelma finally left the jetty, with a nod of farewell to Fécho, and began to follow Eadulf and Enda up to the inn.
The inn was built on a small platean, protected on the side where the hill rose steeply again by a line of beech trees.
‘Ah, at least this walk will help get our land legs back,’ Enda said spiritedly.
‘I must admit,’ Eadulf replied, following him, ‘that I would prefer not to board another ship for a long, long while. A couple of times I thought we were in trouble. Yesterday when the currents started to drive us towards that headland and then this morning when the winds tore our sails.’
Enda chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me, friend Eadulf, that you would prefer to be on horseback?’
Eadulf was not put out by this joke at his expense.
‘I would rather not be travelling at all but seated before a log fire somewhere, contemplating the world with a mug of mead.’
They led their horses to the long, low-built wooden building and secured them to a wooden rail. As no one was about, they left their belongings still packed up on the horses and went to the door of the inn.
The tavern appeared to be empty, but a welcoming fire crackled in a stone hearth to one side. The place was plainly furnished with a number of benches, a table and cupboards, and the smell of newly brewed beer perfumed the air. It was dark but warm and they felt comfortably enveloped as they stepped inside, in spite of the acrid fumes of the fire.
‘Well, it seems you will have your wish at least, friend Eadulf,’ Enda said. ‘A log fire, warmth – all we need is a mug of mead.’
‘You wish for drinks, strangers?’ A hollow voice caused them to start, so unexpected was it.
They had not seen the tavern keeper enter. He seemed to have simply emerged from a dark corner of the room beyond some cupboards. He did not look at all what one expected of a tavern keeper, being bent and cadaverous with dark eyes, sunken cheeks and an unusually solemn air.
Enda turned round and, giving the man a quick appraisal, said: ‘If you are the keeper of this tavern, my friend, yes; we do want some drinks, and perhaps some food. I presume you have such items?’
‘This is a bruden, a public hostel, for free lodging and entertainment,’ replied the man in a voice that carried neither warmth nor interest. ‘It is classed as a brugaid cedach, although that in itself is an embellishment of the truth, but our chieftain likes to maintain that we are able to meet all manner of guests and to serve them three types of meat when called upon. So we have plenty of meats, cooked and uncooked. We also have plenty of beverages, ready to drink.’
Fidelma regarded the man with some amusement at this monotone recital. She glanced about the inn. ‘So, this is a brugaid cedach?’ she asked, unable to hide her laughter.
The mournful expression did not leave the innkeeper’s face.‘It is, as I have said.’
‘Then we will take mugs of your mead first, brugh-fer,’ Fidelma replied, trying to keep her features serious as she addressed him as ‘hosteller’. ‘And then we will discuss what manner of food you serve.’
The man stared at her, hesitating, then looked at Enda. The warrior sighed impatiently.
‘Well, man? I presume you do have mead to serve us?’ he asked sarcastically.
The thin man seemed to catch himself and nodded, turned and walked off at a leisurely pace to get their drinks.
The three travellers took seats near the fire.
‘I thought a brugaid cedach was a big public hostel?’ Eadulf queried, looking round the narrow room.
‘It is the lowest grade of public hostel,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Even so, it is supposed to have room for one hundred guests and to be ready at all times to receive them and serve them food and drink. The fires should always be lit and the cauldrons for cooking should never be taken from the hearth.’
‘The man did confess that the description of this place was a little overambitious,’ pointed out Enda cheerfully.
‘Overambitious?’ Eadulf chuckled. ‘I doubt whether this place will meet the needs of three of us, let alone a hundred guests.’
They were just relaxing after the journey when the door of the inn burst open and two men appeared, swords in hand, followed by a third man. He carried no weapon.
‘Do not move, strangers!’ One of the men brandished his sword threateningly as he shouted this order.
Fidelma and her companions were stunned into inaction.
The unarmed man stepped forward. His features were hard to describe, neither young nor elderly. He had a mop of unkempt black hair merging into a thick, straggly beard. His eyes were dark and small, with an unfathomable malignant quality about them. He was of medium height but well built, and even without the silver chain of office at his neck one would realise he was someone of importance. The quality of his clothes also differentiated him from his two companions.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Enda, beginning to rise, his hand slipping towards his sword hilt.
‘Move another fraction and you will be dead,’ the man who had shouted the first order now said, his voice cold and without emotion.
A darting movement of his eyes as he said this caused Enda to look over to where the innkeeper had disappeared. Another man now stood there with a bow in his hands, an arrow already strung and pointing at them. Enda shrugged and placed his hands on the table before him.
‘This is an outrage,’ he said. ‘Do you know to whom you speak?’
The leader stood a step forward and seemed to examine Fidelma for a moment.
‘I speak with Fidelma of Cashel, sometimes known as Sister Fidelma, sister to Colgú of the Eóganacht,’ he replied, to their surprise.
It was Enda who recovered first. ‘Colgú, King of Muman, of all Muman, to whom your prince, Tomaltaid of the Uí Liatháin, must pay tribute,’ he stated.
For the first time the leader of the newcomers gave a lopsided smile. ‘Tomaltaid? The name seems vaguely familiar … The prince of the Uí Liatháin? Didn’t someone recently claim such a title?’ There was sarcasm in his voice. Then he turned to Enda and said sharply, ‘Tomaltaid’s word has no authority in this territory, warrior. We are of the southern Uí Liatháin. We have no overlord, not even Glaisne of Eochaill.’
‘Then titles apart,’ Fidelma spoke for the first time, and coldly, ‘I am a dálaigh, qualified to the degree of anruth, and thus you will know my authority. I presume you recognise the law, if not your princes?’
This seemed to cause the man even more amusement.
‘A lawyer? I tremble! Princes may come and go but lawyers go on for ever. Indeed, I do fear lawyers. Gadra, show my authority under the law that I respect.’
One of the men at his side took a step forward and raised his sword, pointing it at Fidelma’s breast. Fidelma did not even blink. Her face was tightly controlled. It was Eadulf who gave a gasp and started to reach out, as if to attack the man.
A push from Enda knocked Eadulf back onto his seat a moment before an arrow sped by his head and embedded itself into the wall behind him. He felt its breath on his cheek.
‘Stop!’ commanded the leader. The bowman in the doorway
halted in the act of stringing a second arrow to his bow. The man called Gadra took a step back, and brought his sword back to the defensive position. ‘I would advise no more stupid movements, for your companions’ own health.’ The leader addressed himself directly to Fidelma.
‘May I remind you that you started this stupidity?’ she replied icily, as if unperturbed by his threats.
‘A point I will accept for the moment, lawyer,’ the man acknowledged drily. ‘Now, what are you doing in my territory?’
‘Your territory?’ Fidelma queried with a cynical smile. ‘I thought this was the territory of the Uí Liatháin, and yet you tell me that you do not recognise Tomaltaid’s authority. So tell me where I am mistaken?’
‘You are in the territory of Tialláin,’ the man Gadra said proudly, glancing obsequiously at his leader.
Fidelma sighed. ‘That much I know, for I am told this is called the Promontory of Tialláin, a minor chieftain among the Uí Liatháin, if that is not to give him too much honour – for he controls only this little harbour, no more than a jetty by a stream.’
There was a moment of tension. Gadra looked to his leader, as if expecting an order, but the moment passed and the leader gave a forced chuckle.
‘You speak bravely, lawyer.’
‘I speak as I must, Tialláin,’ she replied. ‘I presume you are the bó-aire of this harbour? Or do you claim a higher rank?’
The black beard and hair disguised the man’s facial features but his body language seemed to indicate controlled anger.
‘I will ask the questions, lawyer,’ he snapped. ‘What are you doing here?’
Fidelma made a point of glancing around as if in bemusement.
‘Here? Why, we were waiting for the brugh-fer to serve us the drinks we ordered. He seems to be a little tardy in fulfilling his duties.’
‘Why did you land here? Where are you going and for what purpose?’
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