Atonement of Blood (27 page)

Eadulf saw a sudden look of excitement come into Fidelma’s eyes.

‘Can you be certain?’ she demanded.

‘As I say, they did not acknowledge one another. Lachtine hurried off while Brother Adamrae asked his question about Ordan. Then, as he was leaving, Adamrae asked me who Lachtine was. I told him. Then he left the inn.’

‘You had not seen Brother Adamrae before that?’

‘I had not. Anyway, I was suspicious of him as it is not often a religieux rides up on a horse more suited for a warrior. Later that day I heard he was supposed to have come from Mungairit to help Brother Cronan administer to our settlement.’

‘Yet you did not alert anyone?’

‘Who – and about what?’ replied Sitae. ‘I heard that Lachtine had gone off into the woods, which was a normal occurrence, and that the new religieux was helping Brother Cronan.’

‘Let’s return to Ordan of Rathordan,’ Fidelma said. ‘You say the merchant came here regularly?’

‘He has passed through here several times during the past year. Sometimes he has arrived from the south and heads north, and sometimes he goes in the opposite direction. But he always stays at my inn.’

‘It is interesting that he never travels from east to west or vice versa. That would be a more usual route for a merchant from Cashel.’

The inn-keeper gave a shrug.

‘Did Brother Adamrae ever say why he was enquiring about Ordan?’

The inn-keeper shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Do you know who Ordan trades with?’

‘I presume he trades with the Abbey at Mungairit, of course. Then, as he spent time in the country of the Luachra, he must have business with them. In truth, lady, Ordan is a man who speaks a lot but says little about his business.’

‘Have you ever been curious about what he trades in?’

‘I would not press someone who does not want to tell me,’ the inn-keeper replied with some dignity.

‘Not even one peek under the canvas awnings on his wagon?’ It was Eadulf who intervened, having assessed the inn-keeper’s curiosity correctly.

The man grimaced, then as Eadulf continued to stare at him, he admitted, ‘Well, there was one time when I happened to be checking that the wagons were parked safely. There was a high wind and some of the coverings were coming loose, and not wishing my guests’ goods to be ruined, I went to secure them. I could not help but see what was in the wagons.’

‘And what was in his wagon?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Ingots. Metal ingots of the types smiths use in their forges. There was also scrap metal. Broken weapons, that sort of thing.’

‘Broken weapons? An odd thing to trade in.’

‘I could not tell exactly what they were. It was only a passing glance as I tied down the covering.’

Eadulf smiled cynically. ‘A passing glance?’

‘Truly, Brother. That was all I saw,’ the inn-keeper replied defensively.

‘Broken weapons? Bars of metal?’ mused Fidelma thoughtfully. Then she rose to her feet, forcing the others to rise too. ‘Very well, Sitae. We thank you for your information.’

They left the man at the door of his inn, still bobbing and clucking after them. Fidelma had become quiet. Eadulf knew enough of her moods not to press for information until she was ready. Nor did Conrí break the silence, for his mind was still considering the possibility of some impending conspiracy against Prince Donennach.

They were nearing the gates of the fortress when a mounted warrior rode across the square towards them.

‘This is one of the men I sent after Adamrae last night,’ Socht explained, turning to greet the man.

The warrior halted before them and swung down from his horse, raising his hand in acknowledgement of the warlord.

‘What news?’ demanded Conrí. ‘Have you found him?’

‘He has vanished, Lord,’ the man said with a shake of his head. ‘No trace of him to the north …’

‘I was wondering if he might have been heading for Mungairit,’ muttered Fidelma to Eadulf.

The warrior overheard her remark and said, ‘If so, lady, then he has chosen a circuitous route to do so. One of my men found signs of him passing to the south.’

‘To the south?’ Conrí was puzzled.

‘Yes. South on the road towards Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

F
or the principal fortress of the Princes of the Uí Fidgente, Fidelma saw that Dún Eochair Mháigh was surprisingly small. The arrogant Uí Fidgente rulers had called it
Brú Rí
– the King’s abode – claiming it as the equal of Cashel. It was true that the stone fortress towered over the eastern bank of the river and the settlement that spread beneath its walls, but apart from its strategic position, there was nothing particularly awe-inspiring about the edifice. Apart from the grey stone dominance rearing above it, the settlement itself appeared as just a peaceful, small farming community. As they approached along the opposite bank of the Mháigh, the riders could see boats plying their trade along the waterway and hear the reassuring ring of a blacksmith’s hammer combined with the noise of cattle being herded. People were moving here and there. But there seemed little movement on the walls of the fortress – whose gates, they could observe, stood wide open.

Socht had brought a company of twenty-five warriors as an escort. He rode at the head of ten of them. The war banner of red silk with the ravening wolf emblem was borne aloft by the standard-bearer at his side. Then came Conrí with Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán. They were followed by the remaining warriors. It had been an easy ride from the Ford of Oaks. They had kept to a track on the western side of the river, as Conrí had said it would save them time rather than having to follow the wriggling path of the water on the eastern side. Beyond the Ford of Oaks the river seemed to increase the number of twists and turns in its path from where it rose in the distant southern mountains.

Conrí surveyed the settlement. ‘It seems our fears might have been for nothing, lady,’ he observed. ‘The place appears tranquil enough. If there had been an attempt to attack it, we would surely have seen evidence.’

‘Better to be wrong than to have one’s fears set aside until too late,’ Eadulf offered defensively.

Fidelma made no comment as they rode down the short hill towards the riverbank and found a wooden bridge, still under construction, across the river into the centre of the settlement. Although it was still being worked on, the bridge had been reinforced sufficiently to take the passage of horses.

Conrí turned to Socht. ‘Take half of the men and wait on this side of the river. I’ll go with the lady Fidelma to the fortress and see what can be discovered. If all is well, I’ll signal you to join us.’

They walked their horses carefully across the construction, the hooves beating a hollow tattoo on the wooden planks while Socht dispersed his men as instructed. As they moved through the township, some folk recognised Conrí and hands were raised in greeting. Other folk regarded them with looks of curiosity while a few stopped and held whispered conversations as they watched them pass.

They moved directly to the pathway that led up to the gates of the fortress. Now they could observe sentinels. A thickset man was waiting for them in the middle of the open gateway. He stood legs apart and hands on hips, a broad smile on his face.

‘Welcome, Lord Conrí!’ His voice was almost a bellow. ‘We saw your banner across the river. What brings you here?’

Conrí swung down and greeted the man as an old friend.

‘Greetings, Cúana. We come here out of curiosity.’ He waved a hand towards Fidelma and Eadulf. ‘This is the lady Fidelma of Cashel and Brother Eadulf.’

The names registered with the man, who regarded them with a surprised expression before quickly acknowledging them.

‘This,’ went on Conrí, ‘is Cúana, the steward to Prince Donennach. He commands the fortress while the Prince is absent.’

‘That is, I have a guard of just a score of warriors,’ Cúana added with a wry smile. ‘Nothing so imposing as at Cashel, lady.’

Fidelma and Eadulf had dismounted. ‘Is all quiet here, Cúana?’ Fidelma asked.

The young steward frowned. ‘Should it be otherwise, lady?’ he countered.

‘It is just that there have been some strange happenings, my friend,’ Conrí explained. ‘The lady Fidelma has come to investigate the attempted assassination of her brother, King Colgú – an attack which succeeded in killing the Chief Brehon of Muman.’

At once the steward showed concern. ‘Is your brother out of harm’s way then, lady?’

‘So far as we know.’

‘Then what brings you here?’

‘A torturous path,’ she replied. ‘We will talk about it later. Right now, I would like to know if you have heard of any plot against Prince Donennach? Have there been any rumours that some rival to his rule may be plotting to seize this fortress?’

Cúana’s eyes widened and he glanced at Conrí as if for confirmation that she was being serious. When he saw his friend’s expression, he turned back to Fidelma. ‘None that I have heard of, lady. All is quiet here, as I have said. If there is some plot to discredit the Uí Fidgente, then I have seen no sign of it.’

Conrí laid a hand on his arm. ‘But what better time for a plot to be put in motion, my friend? What better time to overthrow the rule of Prince Donennach – when he is out of the territory? We must admit there are some among us who resent the peace that was made with Cashel. That is why I hurried here to make sure that all is well with you.’

‘The country has never been quieter,’ the steward assured him.

‘In that case, my friend,’ smiled Conrí, ‘I would formally ask hospitality for myself and my guests as well as for my men.’

‘It shall be granted. I had wondered why you left half of your men on the far bank of the river. Unless my eyes deceive me, Socht, the commander of your guard, is among them. Ah, but I have your strategy. You wanted to ensure all was well here first before you committed them to cross. Well, all
is
peaceful, my friend. You may signal them to that effect so that your warriors may join us. There is ale aplenty. Come, lady, the fortress is at your command.’

‘I presume all Prince Donennach’s ladies have departed with him?’

‘They have, but we have female attendants if you wish to bathe after your ride. You may be assured that there are women enough to attend to all your wants.’

By this time, they were being led across the courtyard and stablemen were coming forward to take care of their horses. Conrí had ordered one of his men to go back to instruct Socht to bring the rest of his warriors across the river. It seemed that many of the warrior sentinels who paced the walls of the fortress were known to Conrí and his men, for cheerful greetings were being exchanged.

Cúana led the way into the great hall which seemed more impressive on the inside than the outside. Great tapestries hung on the walls, with shields bearing symbols of the owners who had once used them, displayed along with swords. At one end of the hall was the Prince’s chair of office, ornately carved with the icons of the Uí Fidgente. Stretching before it was a long oak table with benches either side where the nobles would sit either in council or when they feasted with the Prince. It was, as Fidelma had noted, not as grand as Cashel, but as good as any territorial ruler could afford.

At the young steward’s call, two attendants hurried in, and when refreshments for the guests were served, they went off to fulfil their tasks. Another attendant appeared and began to build a fire in the great hearth, and Cúana gestured for his guests to be seated before he gave orders for chambers to be prepared for Fidelma, Eadulf and Conrí. Gormán, Socht and the rest of the warriors were to be housed in the long wooden
laechtech
– the House of Heroes, as the warrior’s’ quarters were called.

Cúana seemed almost jovial as the attendants served the drinks. ‘I will order bathing facilities to be prepared shortly,’ he told them.

Once again Eadulf was reminded of the daily custom of the people to bathe in the evenings before a meal. Usually, fires were kindled and water heated and a large tub or
dabach
was filled. Often the water was scented with sweet-smelling herbs, and a soap or
sléic
was used. Now and then he had noticed that the tub was filled with water and then round stones were heated and dropped in to warm it. Fidelma had once told him an ancient story of a mythical king named Fergus mac Léti whose attendant did not properly heat the bath stones, or
cloch-fothraicthe
as they were called. He threw one of them at her and killed her. Eadulf was brought up in a culture where bathing was not such a priority and a dip in the river from time to time sufficed. The evening bath was the main wash of the day, while in the morning one usually washed the hands and face.

‘So how have you traced the assassin to this place?’ Cúana asked after they had settled with their drinks. ‘And what are these rumours of an attempt to overthrow Prince Donennach?’

‘I did not say I had traced the assassin here,’ returned Fidelma evenly. ‘As yet we do not know who he was or where he came from.’

‘Then what … ?’

‘I think that you had better let me ask the questions in my own way,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘It is my right as an advocate of the court.’